


Transference

by dark_muse_iris



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Edging, F/M, Infidelity, Japanese Rope Bondage, Light BDSM, Massage, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Pillow riding, Reader-Insert, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Shibari, Shibari Hoseok, Slow Burn, Smut, Squirting, Subspace, Tantric Sex, Therapist Hoseok, Therapy, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 79,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_muse_iris/pseuds/dark_muse_iris
Summary: Prolonged periods of work-related stress bring you to a crossroads in your life that leaves you prone to make impulsive decisions. During a routine visit to the local bakery, you stumble upon an intriguing business card belonging to a "tantric therapist" and take a risk. When you discover your therapist is an attractive young man with a penchant for shibari, you throw caution to the wind as he helps guide you to self-recovery.Excerpt:“Are you surprised?” he asked with a wide grin. “Am I what you expected?”Frankly, you didn’t know what you expected. Maybe an older woman with wild hair and a long chevron skirt would have been closer to the tantric therapist you were imagining. This man was clearly under thirty, yet he was confident in how he carried himself. No early-20’s-something could pull off this level of surety in himself, you were certain. You could feel the apprehension building as you tried to calculate whether he was younger than you, and by how much. His skin shown like the sun, evident of years of meticulous self-care—or maybe he really was that young and this was just some scam to make a quick dollar. Nevertheless, the dark pools of his eyes knew experience...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a byproduct of about 6 months of insomnia and 60-hour work weeks, which resulted in a series of recurring dreams about Jung Hoseok which were…*fans self*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prolonged periods of work-related stress bring you to a crossroads in your life that leaves you prone to make impulsive decisions. During a routine visit to the local bakery, you stumble upon an intriguing business card belonging to a "tantric therapist" and take a risk. When you discover your therapist is an attractive young man with a penchant for shibari, you throw caution to the wind as he helps guide you to self-recovery.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _“Are you surprised?” he asked with a wide grin. “Am I what you expected?”_
> 
> _Frankly, you didn’t know what you expected. Maybe an older woman with wild hair and a long chevron skirt would have been closer to the tantric therapist you were imagining. This man was clearly under thirty, yet he was confident in how he carried himself. No early-20’s-something could pull off this level of surety in himself, you were certain. You could feel the apprehension building as you tried to calculate whether he was younger than you, and by how much. His skin shown like the sun, evident of years of meticulous self-care—or maybe he really was that young and this was just some scam to make a quick dollar. Nevertheless, the dark pools of his eyes knew experience..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Hoseok x Reader  
> Genre: Smut  
> Warning: Therapist!Hoseok, Shibari!Hoseok, therapist/client relationship, discussion of BDSM, sex work, profanity.

“This is a stupid idea,” you mumbled under your breath as your eyes scanned the room for the fourth time. You arrived early—because you always arrive early, to everything—and although it had only been fifteen minutes, time was slowing to a hazy, menacing crawl.

Your delicately adorned dinner table was tucked away in a reclusive corner of the restaurant. However, much to your disappointment, being hidden from view failed to deter from the embarrassing feeling you had in the pit of your stomach as you awaited your dinner companion. The doting waitress refilled your heavily-smudged water glass a third time, a concerned expression painted on her face, but you tried your best not to linger on her suspicions as you raised your glass for another heavy chug. Your ears were burning with anticipation and you could feel the unwelcome sweat of anxiety settling into your palms. You glanced at your watch again. Almost seven o’clock.

 _I can’t do this_. You shook your head as you quickly grabbed your clutch and scrambled out of your seat. Intensely focused on undoing the evening’s initial plans, you fished furiously in your wallet for cash to seal your escape.

“Ms. ___?”

You froze at the sound of him clearing his throat behind you. Tensed by his sudden interruption of your not-so-carefully-planned escape, you slowly lifted your eyes from the table, took a deep breath, and mentally reminded yourself to calm down. Dropping your shoulders with forced ease from years of practice, you turned to the man addressing you.

The first thing you noticed were his hands. Hard-worn, long fingers reached out, trails of strong veins meandering upwards toward his wrists. It was evident he wasn’t a pampered man, as they were anything but soft and delicate. You were instantly thankful the rest of his arms were covered by pressed sleeves, because the small treat of being so close to such beautiful, resilient limbs worked a deep blush into your cheeks.

“Jung Hoseok, pleased to make your acquaintance.” His warm hand remained outstretched, but you hesitated, baffled by the newfound knowledge that your dinner companion was a profoundly attractive young man with an affinity for dark suits. At least this humiliating exchange of words would be softened by his good looks, you mused.

Taking his hand slowly, you asked in a quiet voice, as though sharing a secret, “Are you the gentleman from the business card?”

“Ah, you mean this one?” He brandished an exact copy of the card you had shamefully hidden deep in your clutch, behind your very expired insurance card. Upon seeing you purse your lips, clearly recognizing the card, he hummed a content sound of validation and gingerly sat in the seat across from you.

You held the card and eyed it carefully, turning it over and replaying the moment when you saw it for the first time. The card was dark gray and unassuming, with small, white, capitalized letters. The industrial looking font was as sharp and professional as its crisp corners. An unsuspecting eye of any local passerby would conclude the card belonged to an accountant or realtor and not give it a second thought, but it was the minimalist design of the card that allowed the occupation of “tantric therapist” to blend in discretely. You originally found it posted among the other business cards on the local bakery bulletin board. The bakery, Pika’s Ppangjip, was a staple of the community and had been serving fresh pastries to customers of all ages for nearly forty years. It was certainly the last place you expected to find a card as risqué as his.

“Yes,” you reluctantly admitted, handing it back to him. “It’s the same card.”

“Are you surprised?” he asked with a wide grin. “Am I what you expected?”

Frankly, you didn’t know what you expected. Maybe an older woman with wild hair and a long chevron skirt would have been closer to the tantric therapist you were imagining. This man was clearly under thirty, yet he was confident in how he carried himself. No early-20’s-something could pull off this level of surety in himself, you were certain. You could feel the apprehension building as you tried to calculate whether he was younger than you, and by how much. His skin shown like the sun, evident of years of meticulous self-care—or maybe he really  _was_  that young and this was just some scam to make a quick dollar. Nevertheless, the dark pools of his eyes knew experience, yet were youthful, jovial even. It was impossible to get a good read on him for sure, so you chose your words carefully.

“I just…didn’t know there was such a thing as a tantric therapist. And I didn’t know you could advertise that kind of thing at Pika’s. For Pete’s sake, my grandma took me there as a kid!”

“So that’s where you found me,” he nodded, chuckling. “I was curious. That place has great doughnuts, right?” His eyes closed sweetly as he relished the memories of them, “Ah, glazed heaven, perfect place to find stressed and overworked clients. I really hit the motherload with that place.”

The waitress returned to take your orders, armed with another full pitcher of water to refill your glass. She gave you a reassuring smile after seeing the striking Mr. Jung.  _She must think I’m on a date_ , you thought. You retreated deep in the menu to avoid her intrusive staring.

“What can I get you two?” the waitress asked, an inflection of interest in her voice.

You tried your best to focus on the dinner choices, but it was difficult to read the menu when you could feel Mr. Jung’s eyes on you, waiting for your answer. “M-may I have the lemon chicken, please,” you stammered.

“Of course,” she jotted down your order and topped off your glass. “And for you, sir?”

Mr. Jung drummed his long fingers slowly over the leather-bound edges of the menu, finalizing his selection. It was torture to behold, so you did the only thing you could bring yourself to do—drink more water. He peeked at your desperate intake and then back at the menu, the right corner of his mouth pulling back in an amused smirk.

“I’ll have the same, thank you ma’am,” he concluded, closing the menu swiftly.

The waitress nodded, “My pleasure,” and left you alone with your dinner companion to resume your conversation.

“So, Ms. ___,” he began. “We have about twenty minutes to discuss why we’re both here and come to an arrangement before the waitress returns and realizes we aren’t on a date.”

You quickly nodded your head in agreement. Mr. Jung leaned in and continued, lowering the volume of his voice.

“As you know from the card, I’m what you call a tantric therapist. My job is to evaluate your needs, based on your testimony and paperwork, and provide specialized tantric services designed to address those needs.”

“What do you mean, specialized?” you raised your eyebrows. “You mean like a sex worker?”  _Oh god, what have I done,_ you thought, horrified at the thought of propositioning a young stranger in a place as nice as this restaurant.

A chuckle arose from his throat as he reached for his glass. “Eh, not exactly. I don’t have sex with my clients. I’m more like a counselor who is also a massage therapist. It’s just that my area of expertise isn’t exactly Swedish massage…” A flicker of mischief flashed in his eyes as the side-smirk returned to his face.

You didn’t quite follow what he meant, but the intrigue of this stranger made your stomach simmer with excitement. As humiliating and embarrassing as this meeting was, you knew you had to learn more and get to the bottom of it.

“What exactly is your area of expertise, Mr. Jung?” you inquired as you took another nervous sip from your glass.

“Shibari.”

The water you were drinking immediately became trapped in your throat, then went down your wind pipe by accident, causing you to cough violently into your napkin. Sordid images flashed rapidly through your mind as you continued to struggle, face increasingly flushed. Mr. Jung moved quickly to assist, but stopped when you shook your head and gripped your napkin fiercely, willing your coughing fit to cease after a few painful moments.

“You mean ‘shibari’ as in Japanese bondage? Rigging people with ropes and stuff?” you asked, your eyes red and watering from the cough.

“Yes, so you’ve heard of it?”

You blinked hard several times. “Uh yeah…but—god, there’s a therapy with that?! I thought it was just a kinky BDSM thing.”

“Oh no,” he protested, then paused and leaned his head to the side, as if he was pondering his answer, then corrected his statement. “Well, it can be. But it isn’t always. I use it more like a trust-building exercise, a means to break down barriers in the psyche and get to the root of a problem and overcome it. But I do offer other services though, if that’s not to your taste.” He reached into his suit jacket and took out a thick envelope.

"Here is the intake packet and consent form. My other services are listed on the bottom of the first page. As you can see, I provide counseling on sexual topics and tantric therapy, but I can treat the standard fare too: anxiety, depression, work-life balance, that sort of thing." 

You took the envelope and opened it to reveal several pages neatly folded. The arrangement and organization of the packet was more impressive than you expected. Your eyes carefully scanned the contents, line by line. A deep flush began to resettle in your cheeks upon seeing the long list of his techniques and activities, half of which were not the standard fare for a masseur or therapist of any kind.

"This is a rather exhaustive form, Mr. Jung,” you whispered, too embarrassed to discuss the options at regular volume.

He chuckled gently as you practically hid behind the papers, continuing to blush harshly. He leaned across the table and whispered back, "Yes, it’s exhaustive, but I must insist upon its length and detail in this line of work. A proper evaluation and your formal consent are essential. Do you have any questions about the forms, Ms. ___?" 

Your eyes returned to the documents and you paused, unable to avert your gaze from the word "shibari" and the varying levels next to it: novice, intermediate, advanced. The range of choices made you lightheaded.

"What if I don't know which...level I am?" 

"The intake form is essentially a guide which determines what equipment I will need for our sessions. It also informs me on what sort of session you will require, once I know more about you of course," he explained, smiling knowingly. 

"What do you mean?" you raised your glass to your lips, increasingly flustered because you couldn’t tell why it was so damn warm in the room. And you couldn’t determine whether he was flirting with you or if you were just suffering because you were holding an unabridged kink form in a nice establishment.

"Well,” he began, “let's say my client is in a job or relationship where she has no power or control, a toxic environment. She's reported feeling lost, forgotten, unappreciated for the hard work she does, and she checks 'roleplay' and 'surprise me' on Activities. My first session will likely include some form of verbal encouragement or positive affirmations to make her feel at ease—just talking—but subsequent sessions will work up towards mastering femdom roleplay to cultivate empowerment. That would naturally have a more hands-on approach. Then she can apply what she learned to her personal relationships. My aim would be to validate her feelings, but also build her confidence to help her take charge of her life." 

Your eyes widened at his explanation. It was the first time you heard a man refer to female empowerment with any sort of sincerity, and he was a stranger you met via a bakery business card. Delicately rotating the drinking glass on the tablecloth, you tried to compose yourself. "That sounds very...well planned, Mr. Jung." 

The compliment turned the corners of his mouth upward as he narrowed his eyes at his future client. 

"I take my work very seriously, Ms. ___."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have your first session with Mr. Jung and discuss the details of your intake paperwork outlining your future relationship.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _“I understand your apprehension, Ms. ___, but if I may,” he began. “You aren’t committing to anything right now. We are simply two people greeting each other as I lurk awkwardly in the shadows of your front porch. I’ve never given a consultation in the dark outside before,” he added good-naturedly, “but I’ll do that if it’s what you need right now. I am only going to enter your home if you are comfortable with it and invite me in. If you are willing to let me in, we can become two people who will have a cordial business meeting to discuss the terms of our future arrangement—if you still want one, that is.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Hoseok x Reader  
> Genre: Smut, Angst  
> Warning: Therapist!Hoseok, Shibari!Hoseok, therapist/client relationship, sexual themes, discussions of BDSM, shibari, profanity.

“You can do this, ___.”

You brushed on another layer of mascara as you prepared for your first session with Mr. Jung. It was clear from your first meeting that he wasn’t some creep or a pervert, and after explaining his business model so well, you figured what the hell. Your work-life imbalance had driven you to the breaking point, where you would take a chance on just about anything to shift your focus off the stress. But you could never seem to get there, back to that quiet place, on your own. Meditation, mindfulness, and the like, had gone nowhere. Your cerebral prison kept you locked in a perpetual state of self-evaluation. Your carefree days of drinking and hitting the clubs with your girls had long since passed. These days, they were pre-occupied with planning their weddings, buying their first homes, starting a family. It was fair to say you would probably be closer to that future too, but your prospects of finding someone dried up with your last promotion, the one which placed you at the head of your department.

As you applied the rest of your makeup, you recalled Mr. Jung’s parting words from your initial meeting:

“ _Here. Take the forms home with you and mull them over. We can discuss your responses when we meet for your first consultation next week. And um, you may want to start increasing your daily water intake as a precaution.”_  

_“—what do you mean ‘as a precaution’?”_

_“I only mean that some of these sorts of therapeutic exercises can be very taxing on the body. I want our sessions to reap the most benefits and have the fastest recovery. Take care, Ms. ___. I’ll see you next Friday.”_  

“Fastest recovery,” you huffed as you rubbed in your lip balm with determination. “I drank enough water at that restaurant to sate the Nile!”

You gave your hair another brush before settling on a casual, less invested look. After all, this was supposed to be a consultation for therapy, so it was loose jeans, a knitted shirt and camisole, with your hair loose over your shoulders. Your thoughts drifted to the many possible scenarios for the evening as you gave your appearance a final review.  _It’ll do_ , you sighed, hoping Mr. Jung didn’t have another distracting dark suit planned for tonight. Hands tugging nervously at your shirt, you knew the time was ticking before he would arrive. You should have felt more prepared; you followed his instructions, considered your options and whether this was really something you wanted. But to be honest, you remained on the fence—torn between your conservative upbringing and sordid curiosity—but finished the paperwork nonetheless. Settling down on the sofa after much fidgeting, you reviewed your finalized forms. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” you mumbled as you scanned your eyes slowly over your list of approved methods and activities.

_Counseling. Cognitive behavioral._

_Massage therapy. Multiple types._

_Roleplay. Multiple roles._

Your eyes affixed on the last two rows.

_Sexual therapy. Consultation._

_Shibari. Novice._

Exhaling deeply, you considered whether you should have marked that last one—then your doorbell rang.

A tiny squeak escaped at the thought it may be too late to back out of this arrangement. You waited and strained your ears to listen for any noises outside your door. Maybe he would just leave and you could forget about how silly it was to even entertain the idea of hiring a tantric therapist. But after two determined knocks and another ring of the doorbell, you closed your eyes and took in a deep breath, then opened the door with caution.

“Good evening, Ms. ___.”

The tall, lean figure of Mr. Jung stood relaxed on your front porch, opting for a rolled long-sleeved shirt and jeans instead of the suit, much to your relief. It was well past sunset, but it was clear to see he was ready for work by the large, imposing duffel bag he carried with his right hand. His forearm flexed involuntarily under the strain of the bag, his veined hand squeezing to tighten his grip as his sturdy, black boots remained firmly planted on the ground to support its weight. A guilty part of you admitted to yourself that you were probably staring at him too long, but in your defense, you were distracted by the presence of a particularly enticing arm vein trailing up his tanned skin like a vine. The anxious part, on the other hand, was preoccupied with the bag’s size and weight, as you were unaware of its contents or his intent. A large knot of apprehension began to form in the pit of your stomach.

“Hey, it’s alright, Ms. ___. I didn’t know what you needed for our first session, remember? You still have the intake forms,” Mr. Jung eased, making you realize your tunnel vision of concern had been too noticeable to escape his view. Hanging your head in a sulk, your hand squeezed the door hesitantly.  

“I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“The consultation? Or this arrangement in general?”

“I’m on the fence—about all of it right now. Seeing that bag makes me wonder if you’re here to kill me,” you giggled nervously.

“You know, you’re the first person to say that,” he laughed, astonished. “Geez, I wonder if my other clients thought that too and were too afraid to tell me. I should probably make a mental note of this. But no, the bag isn’t to put you in, Ms. ___. It’s just my floating office, so to speak, until I can afford to rent a space. The landlords in these nice neighborhoods tend to have lots of questions when I ask whether their interior beams that can support suspending 300 pounds.”

Your eyes grew large at his remark and your mouth began to form words, but you failed to utter a response.

Mr. Jung nodded at this poor attempt at communication and gave you a reassuring smile.  

“I understand your apprehension, Ms. ___, but if I may,” he began. “You aren’t committing to anything right now. We are simply two people greeting each other as I lurk awkwardly in the shadows of your front porch. I’ve never given a consultation in the dark outside before,” he added good-naturedly, “but I’ll do that if it’s what you need right now. I am only going to enter your home if you are comfortable with it and invite me in. If you  _are_  willing to let me in, we can become two people who will have a cordial business meeting to discuss the terms of our future arrangement—if you still want one, that is.”

You imagined the curious looks of your senior citizen neighbor, Ruby, who would surely ask about your “handsome visitor” and his mysterious duffel bag the next time you crossed paths.  _No way in hell_ , you thought.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you rubbed your neck sheepishly. “Please come in.”  

Mr. Jung’s warm smile accompanied a slight bow, “Thank you.” 

The interior of your small rental was quite clean and organized—the epitome of “tidy” with everything in its proper place. The wooden floors shined with a light fragrance of lemon. Your color-coordinated throw pillows had been freshly washed, fluffed, and assembled in their set places, as prescribed by the home décor magazines housed safely in a basket under your side table. Mr. Jung's eyes wandered inquisitively over your furniture and belongings, a calculative look cast over his eyes as he studied your living room.

“You have a lovely home, Ms. ___. Very precise, everything has a designated place. You are in complete control here. And I presume you live alone?”

You frowned at his discovery, “Is it that obvious?” 

Mr. Jung waved his hand quickly to clarify upon seeing you so rattled.

“I can tell you like feeling in control of your surroundings based on how orderly everything is. I only asked about living alone because sometimes boyfriends and husbands show up during therapy sessions and then there can be…complications.” 

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Er…well, sometimes my clients don’t tell their husbands who I am, what I do, or—more importantly—that they’ve consented to what I’m doing to them,” he trailed off, placing the duffel bag on the floor by the edge of the sofa. “Speaking of which, we should have a look at those intake forms so we can get started.” 

The mention of intake forms made your stomach flip. Your eyes closed slowly in embarrassment as you retrieved your forms from the end table and placed them in Mr. Jung’s outstretched hand. As he began to leaf through your responses, you looked down at the floor nervously, then abruptly interjected, “Would you like a drink, Mr. Jung? I don’t have much, but—

He stopped shuffling through the papers and cleared his throat. Upon hearing the silence, you drew your eyes from the floor, only to meet his eyes waiting for yours. The dry constriction of your throat hit suddenly as you found him staring intensely at you, giving his full, undivided attention from his place on the sofa. His gaze continued to pierce with intent as you felt heat grow exponentially from your neck to your face.

“Do I make you nervous, Ms. ___?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, trying to calm your shaky hands and still your breathing. Mr. Jung leaned back and calmly crossed his right leg over his left, narrowing his eyes as he continued to monitor your responses.

“Why do I make you feel nervous?” 

“Um…mm,” you wavered. Your mind raced at all the reasons why Mr. Jung put you on edge. He was a stranger in your home. He had a very intriguing job which made him an expert in areas you were not. He was undeniably sexy, and you hated yourself for fantasizing over his dark suits and tantalizing gaze. And he was here, in your living room, staring at you in a way that made you feel thriving and vulnerable at the same time.

“Right there—that thought stirring in your mind,” Mr. Jung pointed. “I would very much like to know that thought which is making you blush right now.”

Your hands quickly shot up to cover your burning cheeks and you squeezed your eyes shut to spare further embarrassment. “I can’t tell you! Ugh, it’s awful! Stop reading me!” you exclaimed, before hiding your face in your hands.

“Aw, come on,” Mr. Jung teased, rising to his feet. “I’ll tell you what, you let me review your forms and discuss them, see if this is really what you want. That’s why I’m here tonight, after all. Let me do that for you, and I’ll throw in a massage for free so you won’t feel that neck cramp anymore. Deal?” 

 _What the hell,_ your eyes widened in shock. “How did you know I have a neck cramp?! I never told you that. You’ve been here all of five minutes.” 

Mr. Jung beamed at your validation, “This is my job, Ms. ___. I observe clients, identify their issues, alleviate them as best I can. And you nurse the left side of your neck when you walk.”

All you could do was remain silent, unmoving, as he continued his initial diagnosis.

“Overall, you’re very tense physically, like you have gone through a lot of uninterrupted stress in the last few months. It’s more than just being nervous from having a stranger in your home. I’m guessing it’s from work based on your occupation info from page two.” He nodded his head knowingly, then leaned towards you, lowering his voice, “I would like to help you with that. It’s perfectly normal to feel overwhelmed at times.” 

The low timbre of his voice caused your ears to buzz with attention. You dropped your shoulders and released the deep sigh you had trapped while watching him speak, then hung your head in acceptance.

“Excellent. Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll start going over the forms,” he said, patting the spot next to him gently, beckoning you to join him. Sinking slowly into the sofa cushion, you grabbed and hugged a throw pillow tightly to your body as you felt the anticipation mounting again. 

Mr. Jung laughed heartily, “Let me guess: you’re hugging your pillow because a stranger is about to find out how depraved of a sex nymph you are, hm?” 

“What?!” you snorted at his boldness. He retorted by raising his eyebrows, waiting for you to challenge his statement, but all you could muster was a defeated headshake in agreement before burying yourself, once again, deep into the safety of the plush pillow.  

“Don’t feel bad, Ms. ___. Think of it as a necessary step on your path to recovery and self-acceptance,” he jovially remarked as his eyes returned to the forms. 

“Recovery from what? You don’t know what’s wrong with me yet!” you stubbornly protested, your voice muffled from still being buried in the pillow.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Mr. Jung mused as he rose from the sofa, shuffling the pages in his hands. “It says here you have trouble sleeping, experience anxiety symptoms over stress at work—are you seeing anyone for treatment for that?” 

“I was…” you began, still muffled in the pillow, “but work started piling up and I couldn’t find the time to go anymore.” 

“I see. So, you felt compelled to stay to fight the good fight, even at your personal health’s expense?” 

“Yeah, well...I’m running a department. It has to be me.” 

“Ms. ___,” Mr. Jung paused, clearing his throat. “When was the last time you did something for yourself? I mean truly for you, to restore that work-life balance. It could even be selfish, like lying and taking a sick day to watch trashy TV. When did you last go out?”

“You mean like a date?”

“I mean at all, like going out for something  _not_  related to work.” 

“Last Thursday when I met you.” 

“That doesn’t count!” Mr. Jung exclaimed with laugh.

Your heart sank in morose awareness.  _He’s right_ , you thought,  _I don’t go out for fun anymore_. Mr. Jung’s laughing stopped and his eyes scanned you again, calmly assessing how you were reacting to his words.

“May I be frank, Ms. ___?”

You lifted your face, now puffy and defeated, to meet his and nodded slowly. Mr. Jung reciprocated the nod and continued, “When was the last time you said ‘Fuck this!’ and just let go of being responsible?” 

Frozen by the gravity of his question, you considered the answer—then once again buried your face in the pillow. “Never,” you whined, your head swimming in the realization that, somewhere between college and your last promotion, you stopped enjoying life and failed to notice it.

“Perhaps you should consider our future sessions to be your sorely needed rebellion then,” he grinned. “Shall we continue with the forms?”

“I think we should,” you conceded as Mr. Jung returned to the sofa.

“Good. Now I need to make sure you understand the confidentiality clauses on this one,” he pointed to the form with the most fine-print. “This form means that I will only conduct sessions with you—privately—and I will not share the details of what goes on here.”

“Seems pretty standard for a medical form,” you agreed.

“Yes, but the thing to note is this isn’t practicing medicine. It’s more like an alternative form of therapy that likely won’t be covered by your insurance. I personally view this as more of a tradecraft because I am addressing a need in exchange for money, but legally my work falls between a massage therapist or counselor and just two adults consenting to conversations and activities which may be uh…not suitable for work, so to speak. Which reminds me,” he turned the page over, “This is the consent form. It indicates that I have your permission to perform any activities or methods from Appendix A until you verbally withdraw consent or use a safeword. Did you complete Appendix A, Ms. ___?”

“Mhm,” you responded nervously as you reminisced over the boxes you checked.

“And?” he smirked, leading. “How about you tell me what’s on your list? Think of it as an ice breaker.”

“You want me to read it aloud, Mr. Jung? Do I have to?” You felt the impending humiliation wash over again and you clung to the pillow tighter.

“Yes. And I would like you to call me Hoseok from now on. May I call you ___ since we’re getting to know each other better?”

You affirmed, “Okay M—Hoseok. Do you want me to start from the top?”

Hoseok handed you the forms and opened his welcoming palm, gesturing you to proceed. “Please.”

An exasperated sigh left your lips as you began to read. “Appendix A: List of Pre-Approved Activities and Methods. Number one: counseling. I checked cognitive behavioral because that’s what I had before.”

“Excellent. Did that work for you?”

“It worked as long as I went, yea,” you acknowledged before returning to the list. “Number two: massage therapy, multiple types. I didn’t know w—

Your words halted as you felt Hoseok abandon the sofa and take a new position standing behind you. Turning to ask him why he moved, you quickly saw why. He was re-rolling his sleeves and flexing his wrists, stretching his long, agile fingers in preparation.

“I know we’re still reading together, but have you already signed this form, ___?” he began, rubbing his forearms slowly.

“Yes…why?”

“Would you like for me to take care of your neck while you continue reading?” he asked lowly, staring as if he already knew your answer. 

Your response got lost in the gulp trapped in your throat. All you could do was muster the strength to signal a yes and turn slowly back to Appendix A. You sensed your hands tremoring lightly as you mentally reminded yourself that a man hasn’t touched you in months. Hoseok gently cleared his throat and moved to the side of the sofa to unzip his duffel bag. Pulling out a small bottle of massage oil, he began to hum a tune to himself as he popped open the cap and returned behind you. You kept staring at the page, but couldn’t seem to focus as you felt his fingers wrap around your hair and gently brush it to the front of your right shoulder, exposing your neck. He squeezed a few drops of oil into his hands and rubbed his palms together with purpose. As he placed his hands on you, he tenderly grazed the goosebumps that rose along your skin. He softly hummed again and began to wind his thumbs into your sore muscles. You couldn’t move, think, or react—you just froze under his movements.

“Make sure to breathe for me,” he directed  a low rumble, barely above a whisper. “Number three?”

Your eyes scrambled to refocus on the page, “Number three: roleplay, multiple roles.” A whimper escaped unexpectedly as his thumb hit on a sensitive knot below your left ear. He redirected the amount of pressure until your neck started to loosen.

“Do you like being in charge at work, ___?” Hoseok inquired, continuing to rotate his thumbs.

Struggling to stay in the conversation, you answered, “I don’t know, maybe? I know if—

The heat from his touch and his voice was all-consuming, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Your eyes rolled in reprieve as the truth tumbled from your lips, “I know if I’m in charge, things won’t get fucked up. I took the job to keep an idiot from taking control of the department.”

“Managing a department is a lot of responsibility to take on for someone so young,” he said.

“Tsk, I’m not  _that_  young,” you interjected, the sensations getting to be too much. “Is that a warming liquid, or is it just hot in here?”

“No,” he chuckled lightly. “When was your last massage, if I may ask?”

“Three years ago, maybe? But it wasn’t like this.”

“Was it a professional massage, or a friend?”

“Oh,” you realized your last massage was an ex-boyfriend with weak hands. His technique paled in comparison to what you were experiencing under Hoseok’s control. 

“It’s just inflammation, ___. It’s your body’s way of responding to the pressure I’m giving it. I need to continue to get that knot out, though.”

You rubbed your lips as you considered a grabbing a fan or turning up the A/C. But you were so planted in your seat that you settled for taking off your knitted shirt and tossing it to the side of the room. Sure, your camisole and bralette were thin and flimsy, but you hardly cared about that since you were feeling so warm from his touch. You swiftly ran your fingers up and down the straps, relocating them over the edges of your shoulders for his ease of access. He muttered a thank you and returned his fingers to your skin, moving down toward the base of your neck. You felt the renewed intent of his thumbs as they rubbed deeply and deliberately, ensuring that any continuation of your list would be a struggle to overcome.

“Number four: sexual therapy, consultation,” you exhaled.

“Mhm…” he hummed, a bit surprised. “Branching out of your comfort zone, I see. May I ask you a question related to that?”

“Okay.”

“You said you took charge at work to get promoted because it prevented an incompetent colleague from messing it up, right?”

“Right.”

“Would you say that you like being in charge at work now? To remain in control, as a gatekeeper?”

“I guess.”

Lowering his voice to a whisper, he gave his follow-up inquiry, “Do you like to be in charge in the bedroom as well? Do you take control to ensure the experience satisfies you?”

The question hit your ear and tingled all over your body. His hands slowed their pace, but his rooted thumbs continued to massage deeply with precision and purpose as if trying to coax your response. Your eyes closed in ecstasy as the pain of him working out the knots began to migrate to a delicious endorphin release. It permeated your chest as your nipples grew erect underneath your camisole. Another tiny whimper squeezed out before you could silence it, a clear reminder of how needy you were.

“Actually,” you began, almost hissing your confession, “I hate being in charge during sex. I mean, I could do it, but I would much rather submit to his full control.”

“But not in professional life,” he chuckled, “because he might be an idiot and ruin everything.”

“Mhm,” you mewled as he continued to work his thumbs.

Hoseok moved from the base of your neck to your shoulders. “Is that the end of your list?”

“Mm-mm, nope,” you shook your head, taking in a breath. “Number five…shibari, novice.”

His hands stilled at your words. He exhaled deeply and returned to moving his hands. “Have you ever participated in shibari before?”

“Does being tied spread-eagle to bedposts count?”

He laughed, “Er—no.”

“Then no. But I read up some more after our last meeting and I want to try it.”

“It can be painful for a novice. It will be an adjustment for you,” he said, as his left thumb circled the tender spot on your neck. The sensitivity made you wince, but the pain swiftly dissipated as a familiar ache began to grow between your legs.

“I know,” you huffed. “I still want it. I need a little rebellion, right?”

“All right, we can do that. But I won’t be hoisting you from that center beam over there just yet,” he pointed toward the beam in your living room. “I can do some basic knots to see what you’re comfortable with. Then we can unpack some of the issues you’ve written down.”

Flattening his fingers, he rubbed his palms over your neck and shoulders as though to carefully seal the kneading he performed. “The toxins from your neck have been broken up and are moving throughout the rest of your body now. You may feel a little lightheaded over the next day or so, but drinking plenty of water will help with that.”

“I’ll drink lots of water. That felt…” your words drifted into a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you so much.”

“Ah, you’re very welcome. I’m glad you feel better,” he smiled, kneeling beside his duffel bag. “Here, you’ll need these for next time.”

He pulled out multiple ropes of different sizes and colors, freshly coiled in neat bundles, and placed them in your hands with a pat of encouragement.

“Uh, how did you know I was going to pick shibari?” you asked, amused.

Hoseok shrugged, “I was optimistic. These are new jute ropes, just for you, for next time.”

After handing the ropes to you for safekeeping, he returned to the bag and readjusted some of its contents. Your curiosity got the better of you.

“Do I get to see what else is in your bag?”

He stopped and lifted his head to meet your gaze and smirked. Rubbing his hand across his jawline in contemplation, he clarified, “That all depends on you. I think you would greatly benefit from the services I offer, and you have been talking like you are planning on going through with our business arrangement—but I need to know, are you comfortable enough with me now to let me evaluate and address your needs? Because if so, I think meeting weekly is a good start based on my initial observations. That’s with the caveat that I will meet with you here in your home until I have an office space.”

You considered his parameters, being admittedly influenced by the best neck massage you could remember. Taking the forms, folding them neatly and returning them to their envelope, you gave your answer.

“I need this. I really, really need this. Meeting weekly here is fine; it’s not that I’m uncomfortable with you. It more just—I know that I’m not who I used to be, but I don’t know what to do about it anymore. Work has taken over my life and my work persona doesn’t mesh well with my home persona. I don’t think I can even recognize my home persona anymore. Am I making any sense? Sorry, I feel like I’m blabbering. Here,” you ended, handing the forms to Hoseok.

He tucked the packet into the duffel bag’s side pocket. “You’re not blabbering, I think you’re simply in a self-reflective time in your life where you’re reevaluating and reexamining what’s most important to you right now. It’s a very strong character trait which I think is in short supply these days. It’s not something to apologize for.”

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Thank you.”

“There’s uh…one more thing,” he added. “In the spirit of self-examination, I have a little homework assignment for you.”

“An assignment?” you rose from your seat, looking a bit confused.

“Yes,” he replied, as he closed his bag with a sharp zip. “I want you to touch yourself tonight.”

His directive didn’t hit your conscious mind right away, no doubt due to the incredible massage which rendered you unable to focus on anything but his enchanted hands. But when it did, you became instantly alarmed.

“Er—excuse me. Isn’t that  _my_ business?”

He chuckled, “Remember in Appendix A, when you consented to sexual consultation? This is consulting. You had one neck massage and you whimpered, your nipples became erect—still are actually.” At that, you quickly crossed your arms and cursed yourself for wearing thin clothes.

“And,” he added, “your pupils are blown out and your skin is flushed well beyond where I was working. I bet there’s evidence of arousal in other places.” He glanced knowingly at the region below your waist and smiled at your embarrassment. “I’m your advocate now and it’s a solid recommendation, ___. Your body is in a good state for it tonight and I know it’s been a long time. You’ll enjoy it. Trust me, treat yourself, and do it regularly,” he winked.

You froze, completely stunned. After a few moments of blinking and thinking,  _oh my god, he said that_ , you agreed to  _consider_  his recommendation—but you made no promises.

“I’m already exhausted, but I will  _think_  about it. Emphasis on think, because I clearly have done too much if you noticed all that.”

“Fair enough. I’m merely suggesting it out of consideration for your wellbeing, but the decision is ultimately yours. I’ll see you next week then?”

You faced what you felt was your last crossroads in this arrangement, and conceded, “Yes, next week sounds good.”

“Great,” he smiled and made for the door with his large duffel bag in hand. Then he stopped, turned around, and added, “Oh, and ___?”

“Yes, Hoseok?”

“I recommend starting with your hands first. Really reacquaint and reorient yourself to your body’s wants and needs. Then you can migrate to whatever else you have and just have fun! Take  _good_  care now!”

He strolled out your door with a youthful laugh, leaving you with your mouth hanging wide open, your aching need ever-present and unresolved.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Hoseok discuss your homework assignment, and your sessions together take a spicy turn.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _Surrendering to every twisted fantasy you had accumulated of Mr. Jung in the last week, it was relatively easy to imagine what he could do to you—what you wanted him to do to you. After all, he left only minutes ago, his earthy scent still lingering in your living room. His instructions to touch yourself were as disarming as the smooth vibration of his voice you were straining to hear again. As your hands searched for pleasure, you cursed their inferiority after sampling the dexterity and experience of his masterly crafted fingers. It wasn’t what you wanted, of course, but the fantasy would do. As desperate as you were for release, it wasn’t going to take long._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Hoseok x Reader  
> Genre: Smut, Angst  
> Warning: Therapist!Hoseok, Shibari!Hoseok, therapist/client relationship, sexual themes, BDSM, shibari, dom/sub roleplay, profanity.  
> A/N: Prepare yourself, this is the shibari chapter. Shibari practice comes with many risks, so always consult professionals before playing.

“Please, Hoseok.”

Your left hand gripped your loose locks and pulled tightly at the roots as the soft, searching fingertips of your right hand slowly encircled your clit, torturing the sensitive nerves at a snail’s pace.

 _“Do you take control to ensure the experience satisfies you?”_  you heard him say, as you dragged the flat of your palm from your hair to the base of your neck.

“I do when you’re not here,” you hissed, squeezing your hand around your neck as your eyelashes fluttered in surrender.

_“It can be painful for a novice.”_

You whimpered as your nails scratched unapologetically from your neck down through the valley of your breasts. “I like pain.”

 _“Touch yourself,”_  he commanded with a sneer, flexing his wrists and winding his shoulders like you’ll be punished for disobeying him. God, how you wanted to be punished.

“Please, I need more,” you mewled, pinching your clit and writhing under his hooded gaze. _So close_ , you thought,  _almost there_. Your fingers slipped into your heat as a deep exhale brushed across your lips.

“ _Oh, you’ll get more,”_ he threatened, rolling his sleeves angrily. You could hear the determined steps of his heavy black boots, getting closer—

* * *

 

“Well, well, good morning ___!”

You jumped, snapped sharply back to reality by a familiar voice. You quickly registered that you were not at home in the embrace of your blankets, and it deeply annoyed you. Blinking your eyes deliberately to center yourself, you realized it.  _Fuck, I was daydreaming again._ A deep sigh communicated your disappointment as you felt the residual ache from reliving your little fantasy. You must have been deep in reverie, given the several seconds it took to return to the present. Your ears buzzed with the bustling sounds of loud voices, clanging dishes, the chime of an old cash register. The fresh, sweet smell of glaze lingered in the air. Upon turning your head to locate the source of the good morning greeting, your face became devoid of all color.  _Hoseok_.

“Don’t look so shocked, ___. Here, take a macaron.” Sliding a small box of pastel treats along the countertop at the bar, Hoseok took a seat in the bar stool next to you. Only when the box brushed against your hand did you remember holding the warm paper coffee cup, half-full of Pika’s roasted finest.

“Are you following me?” you asked, alarmed at seeing the object of your daydream fantasy sitting in front of you.

Hoseok’s eyes smiled as his mouth was full of a mint-colored confection. He shook his head no, looking entertained by your question, then held a finger up to ask for patience as he took a large gulp from his own coffee.

“I come here all the time, remember? Glazed heaven? Desperate clients? I was just in the corner there enjoying my breakfast,” he pointed to the far corner of the bakery. “It was purely coincidence you came along.”

“Wait, you didn’t just get here?” The question fell from your lips as you desperately tried to calculate the likelihood that he saw you daydreaming over him.

He chuckled under his breath, avoiding your gaze as he took another sip. It was a bold move for him to avoid your question entirely, you thought, as you grew more convinced he  _had_  indeed seen you.

“Hey! Were you watching me?” you pressed, rattling the macaron box to get his attention.

Laughing more clearly this time, he turned to you and tilted his head, “I’ll tell you what, I will answer that question if you answer mine first.”

“Deal,” you blurted.

He raised his eyebrow at your kneejerk response, then smirked. “Did you complete your homework?”

Your eyes darted back towards your cup as you rubbed your thumb against the edge of the cardboard coffee sleeve. The truth was that you listened to Hoseok’s advice and decided to “treat yourself” last Friday, per his instructions, but it didn’t go quite according to plan…

_Surrendering to every twisted fantasy you had accumulated of Mr. Jung in the last week, it was relatively easy to imagine what he could do to you—what you wanted him to do to you. After all, he left only minutes ago, his earthy scent still lingering in your living room. His instructions to touch yourself were as disarming as the smooth vibration of his voice you were straining to hear again. As your hands searched for pleasure, you cursed their inferiority after sampling the dexterity and experience of his masterly crafted fingers. It wasn’t what you wanted, of course, but the fantasy would do. As desperate as you were for release, it wasn’t going to take long._

_“Please, I need more,” you mewled, pinching your clit and writhing under his hooded gaze._ So close _, you thought,_ almost there _. Your fingers slipped into your heat as a deep exhale brushed across your lips._

_“Oh, you’ll get more,” he threatened, rolling his sleeves angrily. You could hear the determined steps of his heavy black boots, getting closer—_

_*RING*_

_The ring was loud and unrelenting, echoing throughout your home. Your face contorted in horror at the realization that your office cellphone, issued to you in case of workplace updates and emergencies, had interrupted you during the final push off the edge of the cliff. Your clit became tragically numb against your hand, your body frigidly cold, as you felt your impending release slip away. It was as if your body knew you would betray your primal needs for the office. Again._

_“Son of a bitch!” you shrieked at your phone, wanting to hurl it at the wall for what it cost you. But you did what as you were expected to do as a manager: you took a breath to calm your flaring rage before giving your well-practiced, nauseatingly chipper hello. And as you suspected, server outages were going to delay your department’s reports again; another week of late hours was on the horizon._

“I—yes, I did my homework,” you grumbled as you found refuge in your coffee cup, avoiding Hoseok’s watchful eyes. You desperately hoped that response would suffice and be the end of the discussion. There was a long pause as he contemplated on your answer.

“And? How did it go?” he asked, tenderly turning over a pastry paper to take another macaron.

“It…went?” You were reluctant to elaborate further.

“Hm…it went. I see.” His tone adjusted as he gently dabbed a napkin against his mouth and cleared his throat. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why not? I mean, it went. I did it, and it went. Simple as that. Assignment complete.” You felt the words frantically scatter as your nervous tongue betrayed you.  _Shut up, shut up,_  you scolded yourself.

With a squeak of the wooden stool, Hoseok moved closer to you, lowering his voice, “I don’t think ‘it went,’ ___, because you’re lacking the details: the relief, the restoration, the feeling of renewal. You may have attempted the assignment, but I don’t believe you succeeded.”

Your jaw dropped and you whispered angrily back at him, “Maybe I don’t want to share the details! You told me to touch myself, so I touched myself!” Frantically, your eyes scanned each and every face of the surrounding customers to see if any of them had been unfortunate enough to eavesdrop on your conversation.

He leaned closer so the other patrons wouldn’t overhear. “But did you come?” he whispered. His breath brushed your ear and sent tingles down your neck. Being in close proximity was a sensory overload, that much was clear. The sandalwood scent emanating from him mixed with the sweet notes of the bakery, and you knew you had no defenses in place for that intoxicating combination, no means of resistance. You hated how flustered he made you, how quickly you unraveled under his words.

“What do you think?! Of course, I did! I know my own body!” you hissed, lying again.

Hoseok nodded slowly before waving a waitress over, “More coffee, please.” After the cup was refreshed with a full refill, he added one sugar, one creamer. Calmly stirring the contents in a practiced rhythm, he collected his words, checked his watch, and turned back in your direction.

“You’ve done me the courtesy of answering my question, so I’ll answer yours,” he began. “I was sitting in that corner enjoying my breakfast a full half hour before you came in. I considered greeting you upon arrival, but you looked so distressed that I felt it would be more beneficial for our future therapy sessions to observe you in your natural habitat, so to speak. During my observation, I noticed several things which suggest you hadn’t completed your homework assignment at all, the most significant of which was the daydream you had after your coffee was served. Your non-verbal cues are very telling, ___.”

 _Fuck_. You scrambled to invalidate his claim. Spotting a newspaper next to your arm, you redirected, “I-I was just reading my newspaper and contemplating on it. Nothing to daydream about, I just had my eyes closed to focus better. It’s been a long week.”

“___, you didn’t turn that page for twenty minutes,” he countered. “You zoned out, closed your eyes, and dropped your jaw. Then you furrowed your brow, pursed your lips like you were hungry—when you’re surrounded by baked goods and could have had your pick—then rubbed your thighs together. I mean…their donuts are good, but they’re not  _that_  good. And are you really trying to convince me you were thinking about the news when that paper is two days old?”

Your eyes shot to the page. Sure enough, the paper was from Friday, the day of your failed assignment. You frantically tried to cover it with your sleeve. “So? It’s still the news,” you muttered with embarrassment.

“It’s the stocks page and the market has been closed for two days!” he laughed heartily. “Lying is really not your strong suit, ___. Just admit it, you didn’t get what you needed and you were having a little fantasy pick-me-up in this nice bakery your grandma used to take you to, you dirty girl.”

“Hoseok!” your eyelashes trembled shut as a deep blush settled into your cheeks. “I can’t even talk to you about this right now. Like, we’re in this place on a Sunday talking about my orgasms and my grandma would  _so_  not support this! Why am I still here talking to you? Are you even licensed?”

You scrambled out of your seat and made for the door—but his hand stilled you.

“Okay, yes, I’m licensed. You’re just saying that because I’m not administering therapy via a clipboard and a comfy couch. That’s not my way of doing things, and that’s not why you hired me. You hired me—and you’re still talking to me, I imagine—because you’re curious about my little bag of tricks and you want to see what becomes of Appendix A. I can help you, ___. My methods are not widely shared, I admit, but each addresses a need. The only way you’ll know and see that is if you let me in and be honest with yourself. It’s the only way my treatment works.”

He was right. You were getting in your own way again by being too mortified to tell him the truth of your tragic failure. You pressed your lips in defeat as he continued to sit at the bar, smugly enjoying his breakfast with a smile like it was any other day.

“Fine,” you huffed. “But can you walk me to my car? I’ll tell you what happened, I just don’t want to be within earshot of the customers. It’s a Sunday and I’m so embarrassed, like middle school playground level humiliation right now.”

“Sure, I’ll walk you,” he said, celebrating his victory with a generous tip on the countertop. He scooped up his box of macarons and waved farewell to the staff. You put on your overcoat and made for the door with coffee in hand, trying to muster up some courage for the conversation to come. The thought of your forthcoming confession was beyond unsettling as you mentally tried to select which details to share. When you reached the door of the bakery, you found it was already opened for you by the beaming lover of sweets.

“After you,” Hoseok ushered with a free hand.

Bashfully taken away by the kind gesture, the best you could do was mutter, “Thank you,” as you shuffled your feet along through the entryway.

The first several steps down the sidewalk were silent. You took a sip of coffee and tried your best to calm your uneasy nerves.

“What a nice day outside,” he exclaimed, lifting his face to bask in the warm daylight. He inhaled deeply, then continued, “Just so you know, confidentiality applies 100% of the time, even if we’re not officially in a session. We don’t have to talk about the assignment if you’re not comfortable. But it will inform me whether I need to change my approach—

“I couldn’t get off, okay?” you blurted with a wince. “God, I’m pathetic.”

Hoseok slowed his stride as he ruminated on the new information you divulged.

“Would you be willing to elaborate further? What happened exactly?” he pried gently.

You hung your head and explained, “I was so close, dammit. Right there on the edge, ready to jump off because it had been so long. But my work phone rang and ruined everything. Worst ringtone ever, the kind that says ‘Bitch, you thought!’”

“Hahaha! Wow, that sounds terrible,” he laughed. “So, did you answer it?”

“I had to. All the managers are on-call and given phones.”

“Did you consider ignoring your phone and finishing anyway, just to spite them? That would have been more fun,” he remarked mischievously.

“NO!” you whined in remorse.

“Sounds like you regret that decision,” Hoseok replied with a nod. “If I tell you to touch yourself again, and they call, are you going to answer that phone?”

“I don’t know…probably,” you said, increasingly frustrated. Just reliving that moment where your sorely needed release was stolen was enough to create a knot in your throat. As you approached your car, Hoseok took your arm and turned you around. The anger you felt prevented you from being able to meet his gaze, but you knew he was looking you over again, reading your body language as he had so many times before.

“I know you don’t want to, but I need you to look at me, ___.”

You pursed your lips as the knot in your throat grew, compelling you to shake your head in avoidance. The aches in your chest began to throb as your gaze lifted no further than the tip of his chin.

“I’m up here.”

His tone was low and firm. Authoritative. Not like the sprightly macaron-devotee you conversed with earlier. Leaning on the side of your car, you heaved a defiant breath and crossed your arms, focusing your eyes in any other direction.

He patiently waited, and after a few moments of stewing, your curiosity got the better of you, causing you to slowly shift your face towards him. His jaw and brow were tight with concern, his eyes working a mile-a-minute to interpret all the signals you were displaying. Setting the box of treats on the top of your car, he freed his hands. He opened them up, then squeezed them closed into fists, warming the nerves in his fingers.

“May I?”

You nodded slowly as your eyes followed his hands. His palms flattened to rest atop your shoulders, which were still stiff and locked up. It was as though your whole body went rigid under the strain of the last week.

“You carry so much stress up here. Tsk,” his fingers pressed down slowly to ease your shoulders to relax. “Let your jaw drop.”

Unaware how tense your face and upper body had been, you inhaled deeply, your lungs finding a way to breathe again. His hands summoned the calm response you needed so you could keep your emotions intact. The deep exhalation of peace brushed across your lips. Though you knew it would only be temporary, you thanked him with a soft smile. He nodded in understanding.

“I know we’re not in a session, but I have to ask,” he prompted. “Is work your master?”

“Of course, it is,” you whispered, laced with regret. In acknowledging its power over you, you were validating your fears: your work had broken you and taken over your life. It paid the bills, sure, but at what cost to you? You couldn’t even recognize yourself anymore, and now you were standing in a parking lot deeply upset as you took inventory on all it had taken over the years.

The palms of his hands glided down your shoulders to rest at your elbows as he lowered his voice. “Do you want a new master?”

The use of the work  _master_  left an intriguing feeling in your stomach. The sound of that dulcet word as it left his tongue and kissed your ear called to every primal urge in your body. Your lashes opened to steady your gaze at him, to find his eyes had rested intently on you, waiting for your answer.

“Yes,” you felt the word escape, your mind’s last effort to pull you in his direction.

“Good,” his hands returned to take the box of macarons. “Drink lots of water this week. I’ll see you Friday. Drive safely, ___.”

* * *

 

Friday arrived and you stood in front of the mirror again, giving yourself a pep talk. “Everything is going to be fine. You’re just…about to welcome that man back into your place and pay him to tie you up and ask you dirty questions. For therapy. Right.” You considered what your parents were doing right now. They were probably having dinner or settling into the sofa to watch TV together. The imagery was too wholesome to reflect upon, considering what you were about to do.

The doorbell rang.  _Right on time_ , you thought, as your stomach flipped incessantly.

You opened the door to find Hoseok standing with his black duffel bag and the warmest of smiles. It took every ounce of self-control to remain polite and refrain from staring at him, but it was difficult to not be distracted by his fitted black jeans and loose black t-shirt.

“Good evening, ___.”

“Good evening, Hoseok. Brought your bag of tricks again?” you quipped as you wrapped a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I have big plans for our session tonight,” he hinted. “Did you drink plenty of water?”

“Mhm,” you tried to settle your bubbling excitement as you stepped aside, allowing him to enter. He walked in and scanned the living room again as though he was running reconnaissance in familiar territory.

“So, how was your week, ___?” he began. “Has work let up at all?”

“Meh, not really, but maybe I’m used to it now. I did take half a day’s worth of leave so I could nap before our session. I missed a last-minute department meeting because of it, so thank you.”

“Nice to hear you’re making some adjustments to start taking care of yourself. The nap will help you relax for later,” he nodded, then pointed toward your living room window. “Do you mind if we use that ottoman?”

“Uh—I guess it’s fine. What do we need it for?” you asked.

“So I can have unrestricted access to your back and chest,” he explained, relocating the round, puffy ottoman to the center of the room with ease. After he was satisfied with its location, he moved the large duffel bag to the kitchen table and unzipped the side pocket. Humming a tune to himself, he retrieved the equipment needed for tonight’s festivities. His venture into the depths of the bag was met with intense focus, as his hand dipped into the side pocket and pulled out a pair of scissors, setting them on the table with a clang.

“…Hoseok? What’s with the scissors?” you asked as your stare bored into the blades of the metal instrument.

“EMT shears, in case I need to cut you out. Safety first, ___,” he grinned, snipping the scissors at you playfully. “Do you have the ropes I left here last week?”

“Mhm, under the end table,” you pointed. As you wandered toward the end table to grab the ropes, you could hear him mumbling to himself as he double-checked other unknown contents of the bag.  _He’s so organized_ , you mused.

The bondage ropes tucked in the basket of your end table had remained untouched since last week. Maybe it was because you were slightly scared of them, how tightly they were coiled. Seeing as he left several sets of different colors, you questioned how many of those ropes he planned on using at one time. Admittedly, the crimson sets of rope were particularly enticing, and you secretly hoped he would use those first.

“Which ones do you need?” you called back to the kitchen as you eyed the colored bundles.

Hoseok walked over to the basket and inspected the ropes, “The red ones will do nicely. Both sets.”

“We need both?”

“Yes, one is fifteen feet and the other one’s thirty feet,” he clarified as he took the bundles into his hands and unraveled them. The light pops from the ends of rope as they hit the floor tickled your ears and gave you chills. He hummed in satisfaction as he examined the ropes carefully, “I already pre-treated these, but the jute is new and unused so it may feel a little itchy at first.”

“Oh, are there other kinds of rope that are less itchy?”

“Sure,” he said, “but I only use jute and hemp. I’m more of a naturalist when it comes to rope. I don’t like the synthetic stuff. Hemp is softer and more pliable, but it’s denser, heavier. Jute is lightweight so the lines fly; I can tie you up faster. There are a lot of benefits,” he grinned as his hands continued to pass along the ropes. “Do you like the color?”

You cocked an eyebrow, “You mean the devil’s shade?”

“Yes, the color of your newfound rebellion, ___!” he laughed heartily.

“It’s…interesting. Suggestive.”

“Good. The point of this activity is for you to let go of inhibitions and the obstacles in your life which are blocking your self-growth and happiness. These’ll help,” he said as he draped the crimson cords over his shoulder. As he stood in front of you, hands gripping the ropes affectionately with his webbed hands, you began to understand how attached he was to the practice. He let the ropes hang comfortably, contrasting against the smooth, black fabric on his chest. The image was a sight to behold.

Taking a deep breath with a look of determination, he asked, “Are you ready?”

The question compelled you to register how excited you were, and nervous as well. You shook your head and rested your hands against your sides, waiting for his instructions.

“Okay, we need to go over some logistics before we begin. First off, I recommend changing clothes.”

You hadn’t considered that your casual attire would be inappropriate for this kind of activity. Your eyes swept down to your loose shirt and yoga pants and your face fell. “What do you suggest then?”

“You can keep the pants on. I won’t be binding your legs tonight,” he clarified, “but the shirt is too loose for what we’re going to do. And I would discourage you from wearing your bra tonight—actually, I would stay braless for all our future sessions.”

“Y-you don’t want me to wear a bra? Why not?” you asked, unsure as to why he had a preference in the first place.

“Studies have suggested that the constriction of the bra actually suppresses the lymphatic system’s ability to flush toxins from the body. Those toxins can accumulate in breast tissue and increase the risk of breast cancer,” he summarized, scripted as if it had been repeated to clients several times.

“Oh god,” you interjected, not considering the health ramifications of staying confined in an underwire prison. You made a hasty retreat into the bathroom to change clothes. The swells of your breasts felt overwhelming relief as they escaped their bonds, but you were undeniably nervous about having that degree of freedom in front of Hoseok. Grabbing a thin camisole from the adjoining closet, you pulled it over your head. As you looked in the mirror, you flinched at the sight of your erect nipples poking against the shirt, taunting you.  _Jesus_ , you thought, as you scrambled to cover your arms over them.

Upon your emergence from the bathroom, Hoseok saw your crossed arms and teased, “Come on, ___, don’t be shy. I see erect nipples all the time.”

You shook your head, “I feel awkward. You’re going to be touching around them and they’ll just be…out there.”

“Yes, I will be touching you in a lot of places over the course of our sessions together. And free breasts are healthy breasts. We wouldn’t want all these massages to get thrown away because you caved under a societal norm, would we?” he smirked. “Can you place your arms down now?”

You stubbornly flopped your arms down and moped, “I can’t believe you used the women’s health argument on me.”

“You’ll thank me later,” he retorted as he approached you, the thud of his boots resounding on your wooden floor.

He motioned for you to return to the living room and stand next to the ottoman. As you stood there, feet planted in the floor, you could feel him examining you, anticipating the work to come. You accepted that his brand of intense focus and concentration was what made him a master at observation and diagnosis. The way his eyes glided over your shoulders and neck heightened your expectancy of what he had planned. Taking your hand, he led you to have a seat on the edge of the ottoman.

He left you alone with your thoughts for a brief moment, then returned with the small bottle of massage oil. You could hear the sound of him squirting a small amount into his hands and closing the cap with a click behind you. Without prompt or direction from him, you drug the straps of your camisole down your shoulders and patiently waited. Placing his palms on your shoulders, he began to work out the knots and stresses from the previous week. As his thumbs wound into the root of your needs, you felt secure renewal. You felt sure, for once, and a little guilty for being stubborn earlier.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered.

“—for what?” He slowed his hands, but continued to massage your skin.

“For being a pain in the ass and getting in my own way.”

“We’re going to have self-reflection this early in the evening? I’ve hardly touched you,” he joked. “It’s quite alright, ___. This is a process and you’re growing.”

“I’m trying,” you concluded, as a lingering stillness finished the discussion. Hoseok’s skilled fingers kneaded your shoulders for a few more moments before he broke the silence.

“What’s your safeword?”

You felt a shudder at the mention of it, then grew on edge as a familiar, dull ache began to surface.

“Shh-sh-sh,” he coaxed, redirecting his hands when he felt you seize up. “I just need a word, a happy word, so I know if the ropes are too much. Your body is going to heat up when we do this, and you’ve never done it before.”

“Coffee,” you sighed as you began to feel the effects of his hands. “My safeword is coffee.”

“Good choice. What’s your favorite coffee, ___?”

“Americano.”

“That sounds like a solid start to the weekend. Why don’t you get one for breakfast in the morning?”

“Mhm,” you agreed. “I should.”

Hoseok continued to massage your shoulders and hummed a pleasant tune to himself. Your eyes drifted until they closed. A light buzzing, tingling feeling tickled the back of your head. Goosebumps rose off your skin, which did not escape his notice. He gave a light chuckle and then retreated to the kitchen table. When he returned, he crossed over in front of you and set the EMT shears on the end table.

“Tonight is about redefining your priorities,” he informed you. “You said earlier this week that work was your master. Was I correct in hearing that you wanted a new one?”

You smiled with interest and nodded.

“Very well,” Hoseok acknowledged. “I propose we incorporate a little roleplay into our sessions in the future, starting tonight. I am still observing your behaviors and reactions, of course, but I am informing you that I will be introducing new interactions into our working relationship. How does that sound?”

The thought of roleplaying with the attractive tantric therapist was too tempting to pass up, and you thanked yourself for filling out Appendix A so freely, thus allowing this golden opportunity to take place.

“I take it I am to be the submissive party?” you inquired, trying to hide a growing smile.

“Of course,” he replied in low, icy tone. “You’re the one who needs to surrender.”

His change in demeanor was unmistakable as his eyes bored into yours from his hooded lids. You shifted on edge of the ottoman, hair raised on the back of your neck. The sordid thoughts of your failed homework assignment percolated your mind, now twisted by the allure of the forbidden fruit in your living room. As painfully aware of the “no sex with clients” rule as you were, it did nothing to stop your body from screaming out. Taking in a deep breath, you tried to calm yourself, but to no avail. The air which escaped your lungs did so in a sputtering, shaking mess. All from one sentence.

Hoseok blinked and smiled softly again, switching roles. “I’m going to tie you in a chest harness tonight. Then, I will bind your wrists and we’ll have a nice conversation about how your week went.”

Amused by the thought of being tied up as you bitched about your work week, you giggled and gave a rather enthusiastic “okay” for him to proceed. Taking the longer rope in his hands, he sighed contently like reuniting with an old friend. He folded the ropes over, keeping them evenly stacked on top of each other. Holding the looped end in one hand and the free ends in the other, he instructed, “Elbows up, at your chest.”

You lifted your arms and watched as he pressed the cords over your breasts. His face was expressionless as he checked the ropes’ location before he moved behind you, letting the jute lightly scratch your chest. The light burn was delicious, and you thanked yourself and made a mental note to buy more low-cut camisoles for the future. His fingers pressed into the center of your upper back to secure the loop in place, then he briskly threaded the free ends through and cinched it with a sharp whip of his wrist. The swift tug was startling and squeezed the tiniest of squeaks from you. He responded with a small chuckle and then slowly slipped two of his fingers into the tie to check for tightness.

“How are we doing?” he asked gingerly, as we wiggled his fingers against the skin of your back.

“Good,” you answered a little too quickly.

“Then let’s continue.”

Running the doubled rope in the opposite direction, you felt his hands pass masterfully underneath your breasts. Every brush of the rope excited you, and now you wished you had completely abandoned the shirt for a chance to feel him and the rope more closely. You felt him thread the ropes through the center loop at your back again and pull upward. The tugs—the tension he diligently kept—made sinful thoughts tumble around in your mind like a rotating drum. It was clear that you had underestimated how much you would enjoy this. Hoseok’s hands made a second pass over the tops of your breasts, slowing the pace to ensure the ropes lay parallel to each other. As his fingertips brushed against the exposed surface of your skin, you felt a need to shift your hips to address the growing need there. You crossed your ankles with haste.

“You can release your arms. You’re doing very well,” he said from behind you, as the ropes passed through the middle of your back again. You struggled to speak given how accelerated your heart felt with each wrap, so you simply nodded as your teeth trapped your lower lip.

He kept tension on the rope as he wrapped them over your right shoulder and moved to kneel in front of you, his scent of sandalwood sating your senses again. Instinctively, you spread your legs ever so slightly to give him more space to work. At least, that was the excuse you were giving yourself. With his free hand, he pulled the lines from the tops of your chest out an inch or two and coaxed the ends through, snaking the ropes between the valley of your breasts. You struggled to maintain composure as you felt the rough cords rest between them, brushing against the camisole. His fingers hooked and tugged a second time on the lower set of ropes to weave the ends underneath the wrap, letting them dangle tauntingly between your legs. Every cell in your body wanted to clasp your thighs on the rope, but you knew you couldn’t. Your wanton thoughts only intensified as the sensation of his long, nimble fingers pulled against the wraps again. You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt the buds of your nipples grow hard, desire making a shameful curl in the pit of your stomach.

“Hey,” Hoseok interrupted, barely audible. Your eyes opened to meet his warm, youthful orbs. He peered into the windows of your soul for a moment and gave a knowing smile, then whispered, “It’s okay to like it.”

Your face flushed harshly at his words, as you felt your lust pool between your legs. He began to hum a tune again, the low timbre of his voice filling your ears, as he took the dangling ropes, pulled them upward and twisted them over, the pads of his fingers skillfully working between your breasts, but never touching them—never a brush, never a graze. There was no mistaking the ache you felt now, with him being so torturously close. As he looped the ropes over your left shoulder and returned behind you, a whoosh of relief escaped your lungs. The sound of his tune ceased as he made a final pass of the cords back through the middle loop and finished the tie off with two overhand knots and a final tug.

“Beautiful,” he concluded, satisfied with his craftsmanship.

Your trembling hands made a concerted attempt to rest in your lap, but the secure hold of the ropes across your chest felt exhilarating. As you closed your eyes to take in another breath, the thuds of his black boots resonated again as he returned to kneel in front of you, grasping the second red rope.

“This is a two-column tie. Very basic, but very versatile. It can be used to tie any two limbs together,” he instructed. “Let’s have your wrists, ___.”

The rope made a soft whir as it blurred though his able hands. As it zipped quickly to its purpose, you wondered if that was the speed with which he normally bound his willing clients, and the corners of your mouth lifted into a grin as you contemplated on that level of efficiency. His face remained tranquil, his eyes affixed to the rope as he folded it over to double its thickness. The veins trailing atop his forearms twitched as his hands straightened the parallel cords into a bridge between his fists, the ends hanging evenly on either side of you. Your wrists levitated off your lap as you became entranced by Hoseok’s pursuit of the perfect tie, by his focused efforts in everything he set his mind to.

“You enjoy this part of your job,” you smiled softly as you felt his hands graze your skin. “Tying people up.”

“Mm,” Hoseok hummed, “Watching my clients enter a plane of subspace is a beautiful and rewarding fulfillment. To watch them let go—of doubt, inhibition, resistance—all of it, is worthwhile. To finally release…”

“You make it sound like an orgasm.”

“Some clients do orgasm when they are bound and under my control. If that’s what they need and I let them have it, that is.”

 _Fuck_.

“—but no sex with clients?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

He shook his head, wrapping the cords over your wrists carefully to ensure they didn’t overlap. “The clients don’t need me; your brain is your strongest sexual organ. You can think into orgasm with the right training.”

“Really?”

“It’s been known to happen,” he smirked with a low tone, before crossing over the cords and cinching sharply. As he secured the bond with an overhand knot, you admired how orderly and uniform the rows of cords laid across your skin. The dark crimson jute was as alluring as the skill with which he tied it.

“How are we doing?” he asked as he rose to his feet.

The truth was, you were feeling incredible, adorned in the ropes he gave you. But you could feel the heat rising from your skin and you were unsure whether it was from the ties or the way he was reading your every expression.

“It’s a little warm in here, but I’m okay,” you answered. “I feel…good. Secure, I guess.”

“Good. Let’s have a conversation then,” he countered with a cheerful expression as he began to pace your living room. “In order for me to properly replace your employer as your master, it is essential that I understand what form of stimulation is the most effective for you.”

You should have been listening, had you not been hopelessly distracted by his trim legs as he strolled around, hands folded in an inquisitive manner behind his back. “Um…I’m sorry, what? What do you mean ‘stimulation’?”

“Remember in school when you learned whether you were a visual learner, an auditory learner, or a kinetic learner?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, this is sort of like that. Pleasure can be achieved more quickly if I know what sort of stimulation is the most effective for you. Then I can provide a more customized consultation. We wouldn’t want that failed homework assignment to be the final nail in the coffin for you, ___.

In that moment, you weren’t sure whether to be thankful or regretful for checking “sexual consultation” on Appendix A in those original intake forms. You shifted in your seat as your muscles attempted to stretch—only to be restricted by the scarlet bonds. With every minute movement, you were reminded of the rope’s power; each shift earned a touch of roughness which brushed across your exposed and yearning skin.

“I haven’t really thought about pleasure that way, if I’m being honest,” you remarked with a small shrug.

“I have some thoughts,” he said from behind you, “based on our time together so far.” You heard the sound of his steps approaching.

“Like what?”

You felt goosebumps ignite along your skin’s surface as his fingertip traced slowly from your lower spine up to the curve of your neck. The motion was calculative, precise, and well-rehearsed—all the trademarks of a master. The prompt response from you gave Hoseok all he needed to confirm his hypothesis.

“You’re definitely sensitive to tactile stimulation,” he concluded, as he moved into your view. “That was evident from your responses last time. Let’s see…do you watch pornography?”

His face looked completely serious, but it didn’t detract from how embarrassing the question felt for you.

“Sometimes,” you responded hastily, anxious to change the subject. “What was the last one again? Tactile, visual, and then what?”

“Ah, auditory,” Hoseok replied. “I have my suspicions, but that’s an easy test. Close your eyes.”

He cleared his throat as he awaited your participation. You wiggled your wrists and felt the firm ropes rub against your skin. You looked at him with an air of playful distrust, but you were nonetheless intrigued by his assessment. As your eyes closed, your ears strained to detect what he was planning. You recognized a familiar sound, the light jangle of metal and a hissing sound against what you assumed to be the fitted jeans he was wearing. Then the room fell silent.

A nervous anticipation filled your chest, still constricted under the ropes, as you gave pause.

Then, a sharp crack resounded—the snap of his belt, an unyielding assertion of dominance that held such promise in the seedy recesses of your subconscious mind. Your body reacted with an involuntary shudder as the tiniest of whimpers conveyed your aching need from the back of your throat. As you tried your hardest to swallow the sound, your vision returned to reveal the smug expression of satisfaction painted on Hoseok’s face.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “I think we have our answer.”

Your face blushed harshly as your body screamed from underneath the ropes, “I—How are you doing this? Are you trying to torture me?!” 

He laughed at how frustrated your unsated hunger became, “You should listen to your body more. It knows what it wants.”

“Maybe it’s confused!”

“It’s speaking just fine to me,” he shrugged with a confident smirk, like he just confirmed he knew your body better than you did.

“Psh, you’re—

*RING*

 _Oh no_.

His eyes met yours and grew darker with mischief. “Is that your work phone?” he inquired with a low tone.

You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes widened with growing fear of who was on the other line. Your eyes moved toward the end table where the phone resided.

“Make them wait.” His command was sharp, demanding obedience.

*RING*

The unrelenting need to answer the phone intensified. “I-I can’t,” you pleaded. “It’s work. I have to get it.”

“You  _will_  make them wait, or else.”

 _Or else what_ , you glared defiantly. Even with your hands tied together, you knew could answer it…

Abandoning reason, you jumped up from your seat and tried to bolt for the end table. Hoseok reacted, his boots making a skidding sound as he charged at you, hooking his long, strong fingers into the loops of your chest harness and yanking you backwards. His other arm encircled your waist, gripping tightly to halt your advance.

*RING*

“Let go of me!”

“Then use your safeword,” he hissed into your ear, making you tremble under the vibration of his tone. The only response you could make was a whine as you wriggled in the bonds to try to get free, but his hold remained steadfast. It was a foolish mistake, you realized, to think you would ever make it to the phone. Squirming only instigated him further.

“You will obey,” he cooed darkly, as he dragged his hand from your waist up to your clavicle, his fingertips pressing into your skin, “or  _I_  will answer it and tell them what a dirty, dirty girl you are.”

The throbbing ache between your legs as his firm, unyielding body remained pressed against yours was unmistakable. Your thoughts, hazy with lust for being under his control, grew more menacing and needy.

*RING*

Your last hope fell like a hammer with the final chime of the phone. Now the caller, whoever it was, would have to leave a message.

“Ugh,” you growled, your bound arms reaching out towards the phone, now flashing with a notification of a new voicemail.

“I don’t think so, ___,” he warned with gritted teeth. “ _Every_  time you choose them,  _every_  time you say ‘yes’ to work on  _my_  time, this”—he jerked the ropes along your spine—“will happen.”

The dark pleasure hovering in your mind spilled onto your tongue. “What if I  _want_  this to happen?” you spat over your shoulder at him, egging him on.

Recognizing the change in your response, his body relaxed and he released his hand from your chest. Adding distance between your bodies, he hummed methodically—then used his iron grip on the harness to shake you back and forth like a rag doll.

“Don’t sass me girl, or I’ll hogtie you!”

The ceaseless flopping broke the wanton spell and you started to giggle at how ridiculous of a situation you found yourself in.  _What would my coworkers think_ , you mused,  _if they saw me like this?_  The thought of your elderly colleagues’ frowns of disappointment at your shamelessness made you double over in bellowing laughter. As you continued, you felt the tension of the rope slack as Hoseok released his hand from the harness and turned you to face him.

“There we go, enjoy this feeling,” he hummed, pleased with his work. “Now, as much as I’d like to keep you tied up, we are running out of time and approaching the end of this session. Follow me.”

The pang of disappointment settled in your stomach at how quickly the time had flown by. He took you by the ties which bound your wrists and led you to the bathroom. “Sit here while I draw your bath,” he said, pointing to the toilet.

“Hoseok, that’s not necess—

“Do we need to have another conversation about who’s in charge here?” he scolded playfully, eyebrow raised. “You’ll be sore tomorrow. Trust me on this.”

Too tired to challenge further, you nodded and sat on the toilet, waiting for his next move. As expected, he resumed humming to himself. The sweet melody echoed along your bathroom walls as he leaned down and turned the water on. His face was relaxed, eyes warm and affectionate, as he ran his hand under the stream and adjusted the temperature with a tender turn of the knob.

He turned back to you and asked you to stand up. “Time to take these off,” he said, gently pulling at the bonds.

Beginning with the rope binding your wrists, his fingers attentively released the knot. The cords gave way and unraveled, revealing notches in your skin, indentations of the work he performed. You sighed contently as your fingers skimmed the ridges. You caught a glimpse of Hoseok smiling as you ran your fingertips across them.

He slowly spun you around to reach the harness’ knots at the center of your back. You felt the tugs as he worked to release the bonds. The sounds of the running bath continued to fill your ears as his hands brushed against your shoulders to unwrap each hold the rope had over you.

“How was tonight’s session for you?” he asked. Another wrap came undone.

You were thankful your face was turned away from his view, “I liked it.”

 _An egregious understatement_ , you knew.

“I’m glad to hear that. Sometimes clients check ‘roleplay’ and ‘shibari’ without really understanding what they mean. We will continue progressing with both methods next time,” he said.

You smiled wickedly to yourself as you mentally praised Appendix A. The last cinched cord fell to the floor with a light pop.

“All free now,” he rubbed your shoulders encouragingly before turning off the water. “I have one more thing for you.” He grabbed the ropes and stepped out of the room. When he returned, you laughed at the sight of a bath bomb in his hand.

“What kind of dominant master keeps bath bombs in his mysterious, black duffel bag?” you joked.

“Ach!” he retorted, “The kind who cares about his pet getting all those essential oil benefits, that’s what kind!”

He shook his head before tossing the bomb into the tub with a plop. As it fizzed and foamed along the water’s surface, he wove his fingers through the bathwater to spread the effects. “It’s lavender, so it will help with body aches and sore muscles,” he said quietly.

When the bath bomb had fully dissolved, he gave his final instructions for the session, “Soak for a good, long while. Let the heat do its job. Then go to bed and sleep in—don’t check your phone until the morning. Make them wait and focus on yourself. Get that Americano.”

As he stood to leave you for the evening, you stopped him.

“Um…Hoseok?”

“Mm?” he turned back towards you.

“Would it—would it be against the rules if I asked for a hug before you go?”

His brow creased and he paused, formulating an answer.

“I suppose it’s okay,” he responded. “It’s possible to form a closeness, a bond of sorts, when practicing shibari. I don’t see the harm in a hug.”

He outstretched his arms with a warm smile and you closed in. Your face pressed against his chest as your arms wrapped around his back. He cradled one hand against your head, supporting its connection to his chest, while the other arm rubbed your back gently—like he was coaxing you to relax. You hadn’t hugged someone like that since you do don’t remember when, and the feeling of being in a man’s arms again was more overwhelming than you expected. A lump caught in your throat when you understood how much you were going to miss this feeling.

“Thank you,” you sniffled, face still close to his chest, partially muffling your words.

He rested has head on yours, “It was my pleasure, ___.” You felt the timbre of his voice against your cheek and tried to hang on to the memory of it, to make it last.

When the embrace ended, you looked lovingly at your bath he drew for you and smiled. “So, I’ll see you next Friday?”

“Ha!” Hoseok bellowed, “You mean you want me to draw a nice bath for you next week too?! I see how it is…” His voice trailed as his eyes rested on yours a moment longer. “Yes, next Friday.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your shibari session with Hoseok brings you closer.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _“I’m packing my bag for today and I wanted to ask how many large bundles of rope I left at your place.”_
> 
> _If you were being honest, you tried not to think about the ropes and all the promising future activities they could bring. “Um…maybe two? I can’t remember. Why?” you asked._
> 
> _“Because I would like to bind your legs tonight.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Hoseok x Reader  
> Genre: Smut, Fluff, a touch of Angst  
> Warning: Therapist!Hoseok, Shibari!Hoseok, therapist/client relationship, sexual themes, BDSM, shibari, dom/sub roleplay, pillow-riding, dirty talk, profanity

Thanks to high winds and a stunning change in temperature, the following week brought the worst allergies you had experienced all season. Your sinuses swelled as the pollen invaded and set up camp in your nasal passageways, causing your head to inflate like a balloon. As you sat at your desk in your corner office, you stared regrettably at the empty package of allergy medication as a headache began to form.

What’s worse was the non-stop ringing of your phone, incessantly demanding updates on your department’s reports and projections for the next quarter. What you wouldn’t give to watch that phone go up in flames. You were convinced that if the universe could spare a few moments of silence, it would be enough to shrink the swelling in your sinuses. As your lunch break approached, you prayed it wouldn’t ring again so you could escape to your pathetic, limp tuna sandwich and be in peace.

*RING*

“Fuck,” you grumbled under your breath as you braced yourself for the next asshole from whatever department who placed this most inconvenient call.

“This is ___,” you answered begrudgingly.

“Tsk, you sound stressed, ___. Is this a bad time?” Hoseok’s voice teased on the other line, making your eyes burst open in surprise.

“E-er, no…I was just expecting someone else,” you stammered as you cupped your hand around the receiver, hoping not to be overheard.

“Ah, the jerks who interrupted your alone time, right? Yeah, I wouldn’t want to talk to them either.”

“Precisely,” you blushed, feeling the strain in the back of your neck as your head slumped in embarrassment. You paused briefly, hoping the warmth in your cheeks would subside, and then it occurred to you.

“Hey, how did you get this number?”

“You filled it out on your intake form,” he replied, shuffling papers loudly over the phone, “and it says here that you take calls between 12 PM and 1 PM.”

“Oh. I guess I did write that.”

“You did, but we can change that if you want,” he offered.

“No!” you answered too quickly. “I-I mean, it’s fine. It’s just my lunch time.”

“Hm,” he began, “I want you to know that this scribbling is the sound of me changing your contact time so you can eat in peace. But since I have you on the phone…I do have a question, ___.”

The thought of Hoseok making business calls during the day had never occurred to you until now, but the thought made you grin with amusement as you imagined the mysterious figure of your tantric therapist updating records and leaving voicemails on clients’ phones.

“Yes?” you gritted your teeth, trying to shield your enjoyment.

“I’m packing my bag for today and I wanted to ask how many large bundles of rope I left at your place.”

If you were being honest, you tried not to think about the ropes and all the promising future activities they could bring. “Um…maybe two? I can’t remember. Why?” you asked.

“Because I would like to bind your legs tonight.”

Your breath became caught in your throat, creating a harsh cough. The flush in your cheeks returned with full force as your eyes fell on the door to your office. It stood threateningly ajar, exposed to the eavesdropping ears of your colleagues.

“Please hold, sir,” you rehearsed in your professional telephone voice as you tried to compose yourself. You heard him chuckle as you placed the phone on hold and quickly scrambled out of your seat. Tiptoeing with a little too much gusto, you closed the door with a small click to ensure the most privacy possible.

Returning to your seat, you re-centered yourself and said, “Thank you for holding.”

“Did you close the door? It’s quieter now, like you don’t want them to overhear our conversation,” he laughed. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but this is a professional business call!”

You scoffed before shooting back at him, “Remember last week at Pika’s when you asked about… _things_? I’m not falling for that again!”

“You’re entertaining when you’re flustered. You must really hate the idea that your subordinates could find out about your Friday night frolicking,” he joked, making you whine with renewed uneasiness, unable to say anything further.

“I’ll tell you what,” he conceded. “I’ll bring extra ropes, just in case. Oh, and uh, there’s one more thing…”

“Yes?” you hesitated, unable to venture a guess as to what that thing was.

“I would advise you to have bare legs for our session tonight.”

“What do you mean, ‘bare’? Like shaved? Why would that matter—

“I mean no pants, ___. Hair is inconsequential.”

You would be lying if you said you didn’t crack a little grin of excitement at that point of clarification, having remembered the wonders that having no bra gave you last week with the chest harness. But you didn’t want to sound too enthused and come across like a pervert.

“I thought you said no bra last week. Now you’re saying no pants, too?” you asked, hoping he would elaborate.

“Yes, binding legs comes with additional risks and I can tie you better with bare ones, make them snug. It’s not a requirement, per se, but it is a safety precaution—and an added benefit to you.”

“Benefit how?”

“Because you’ll be able to feel the ropes brush against your skin,” he clarified in a hushed voice. “In fact, if you were  _really_  self-serving, you wouldn’t wear that top you usually wear either.”

Your mind drifted back to your previous session and your regret at having kept the camisole on, robbing yourself of fully experiencing his handiwork as he threaded the ropes between your breasts. The thought made you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“But then I’ll be…,”  _Practically naked!_ “…er, less clothed?”

He paused for a moment, letting the silence linger on. You heard him shuffling the leaves of his paperwork over the phone a second time.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, taking a more direct approach.

You massaged the side of your neck gingerly. “Yes.”

“Good. Then trust me on this. I took care of you last time, yes?”

Your legs tingled as you remembered him jerking the ropes against your back and pulling you close to him, gripping your body tightly as he sent rumbling tones into your eager ear.

“Mhm,” you murmured, barely above a whisper, as your memories continued to hold your attention.

“___.”

“Hm?”

“Are you thinking about how you disobeyed Master last week?”

His tone, laced with seasoned mischief, made you jerk to attention. You were thankful to be alone in your office, as he wasn’t there to see the corners of your mouth turn upward at the word “master.”

“Maybe…,” you admitted, trailing off to dodge further scrutiny.

“Do you enjoy shirking my orders? I’m starting to think you  _like_  misbehaving,” he alleged in a challenging tone.

Rubbing your lips together, you remembered how much you relished hearing him scold you. Your ankles crossed playfully under your seat.

“Sometimes,” you replied with a smirk.

“Hm,” he hummed. “Then why don’t you get off this call, clock back in, and then go touch yourself in the ladies’ room? Get off at work—and make them pay you to do it.”

“Hoseok!” you exclaimed, jaw on the floor at his ridiculous request.

“Tsk, come on. I thought we were rebelling. What about supporting the quality workplace, boosting morale for your employees, and all that brainwashing babble? Lead by example!”

“You’re insane!”

“Deny it all you want, ___, but I know you’re at least thinking about it,” he chuckled suggestively.

“NO—I’m not!” you squeaked, trying to keep a straight face.

“Don’t lie to me, dirty girl. I can hear you smiling over the line,” he countered with confidence.

You struggled to hold in your laughs as you imagined pleasuring yourself in the bleach-infused corporate office bathroom. You were sure to be interrupted by other women complaining about their husbands or kids, or worse, they would be holding up the stalls after learning the hard way what digestive pyrotechnics a detox can inflict. God, you would never come under those conditions.

“These bathrooms don’t do it for me,” you frowned.

“That’s too bad,” Hoseok replied. “But unfortunately, as much as I have enjoyed provoking you at your office, I have to make a few more calls before my rounds today. I’ll see you later tonight?”

“Yep, I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too. Make sure to drink lots of water.”

“You always say that,” you laughed.

“…I really mean it this time, ___. Take care.”

The sound of the click as he hung up released you from the hold of his voice. You wondered what he meant by his last words, but resolved to not become too fixated on what he may have in store for you. An imposing stack of reports teetered on the edge of your sterile, boring desk, and you sighed regrettably at the time on your clock, eager to leave.

* * *

 

A soft breath of acceptance released from your lungs as you gazed in the mirror, your fluffy bathrobe tied snugly against the freshly showered slopes of your skin. The act of self-examination before your sessions with Hoseok was becoming a regular occurrence, but this time you felt excitement and anticipation more than anything else. It was almost enough to make you forget about the headache from your seasonal allergies, which had the audacity to stay with you throughout the workday. Your hair held up in a tight bun, left over from work but still mildly presentable. You laughed at yourself as you mulled over how silly it was to worry about hair when you only had a pair of gray cotton panties on underneath your robe.  _At least I’m not as nervous_ , you reassured yourself.

As the doorbell sounded, your stomach leaped in the direction of the front door. Your bare feet shuffled eagerly in its direction as you looked forward to his plans.

“Good evening, ___,” Hoseok greeted with a jovial expression.

“Hi…,” you answered, suddenly stricken with the realization you answered the door in your bathrobe.

He entered and set his black duffel bag on your kitchen table, then glanced briefly at your attire. “You look ready,” he nodded as he began to unzip the bag and retrieve his tools for the evening.

“I didn’t want to give myself a way to back out of the ‘no pants’ thing. It’s just that…,” your apprehension began to creep slowly into your thoughts at the sight of him pulling out two large bundles of rope. Your throat felt dry.

“It’s just that—what? If you don’t want me to tie your legs, we can modify the session,” he proposed, sliding the pair of EMT shears in his back pocket.

“No, it’s…the thing is,” you gulped as the uneasy truth burned your ears, “no one has touched my legs in a long time.”

“Ah, well,” he began, “we still have ‘coffee,’ unless you want to change your safeword. You don’t have to use it for pain only. You can use it if you want me to stop for any reason. Communication during our sessions is critical, and I don’t ever want to overstep a boundary of yours and make you uncomfortable. That being said, I think you’re going to like what I have planned for you.” His eyebrow cocked as his expression beamed with pride.

You smiled eagerly as you tugged on the tails of your bathrobe belt. “We can still use the same safeword.”

“Works for me. Tonight’s session is going to have quite a few different elements to it, including some techniques from last week, but I would like for you to focus on relaxing and letting your mind and body operate according to their natural state.”

“What do you mean?” your brow creased in confusion.

“There’s a chance—with what I have planned—that you may fall into subspace tonight. It’s not a guarantee, of course, and the experience is different for everyone, but it may include a nervous system response which can release chemicals that put you in an altered or trance-like state. At times, these states can make someone more resistant to physical pain, but there can be emotional responses as well. I think that may be more likely in your case based on our previous sessions. You may find yourself feeling or saying things you normally wouldn’t in daily life.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, it all depends. I’ve had clients say a lot of interesting things over the years: angry things, sad things, sexual things. The important thing to remember is that unfiltered honesty is the fastest way to help me help you; this is a safe place and you can say whatever you want here. Or nothing at all. Sometimes clients stop talking altogether, or they may just make noises. Whining, moaning, that sort of thing,” he explained.

“Have you ever been in subspace?” you asked hesitantly. “I mean, am I allowed to ask you that? Is that too personal?”

Hoseok approached you with the bundles of rope in hand. “I’ve been there many times. Rest assured, I will not be surprised by any of your responses.”

“If you say so,” you accepted, sticking your hands in the plush pockets of your bathrobe. “Where should we begin?”

Unraveling the ropes and draping them over his shoulders, he answered, “Wherever you are the most comfortable. Where do you like to relax most after work?”

“My bed.”

“Lead the way,” he bowed, extending his arm to await your directions.

You entered your bedroom and were thankful you had the mind to keep it as clean as the rest of your home, especially given the excitement you were feeling upon hearing the thuds of his heavy boots behind you.

“Where do you want me? Or how, I guess I should be asking.” you began, a tinge of excitement tickling your tummy as you turned to face him.

Hoseok set the shears on your side table and began to massage his forearms, warming them up. The veins of his hands danced with each pass over his skin and you wondered if his hands were always that lively and active when he worked. He clicked his tongue, smirking at you. A slight blush settled in your cheeks at having been caught staring.

“Take off your robe, sit cross-legged on the bed, and face that direction,” he pointed to the wall turned away from him.

The warmth of the bathrobe abandoned you as your fingers untied the belt, letting the soft, fluffy panels drape open on either side of your body, your bare skin peeking through. The cold air greeted you instantly, goosebumps erupting along every uncovered surface. Hoseok’s eyes remained trained on your face, studying your reaction as you tried to reject modesty and continue to disrobe. Your hands gripped the lapels and braced for the final action which would leave you exposed to his view. Taking one last breath, you shifted your eyes away from him and towards the floor, as your shoulders shrugged off the last barrier and the plush protection slipped down your arms and pooled onto the floor.

Your body stiffened as you turned toward the wall, climbing on the bed to sit as he instructed, with your back facing him. His boots rocked against the floor as he moved closer behind you.

“Don’t be nervous,” he muttered as his hands flattened against your shoulders, registering how tight they had become.

“Sorry, I’m just not used to having anyone look at me,” you apologized as his warm, firm hands swept over your back, preparing the muscles.

“Do you think I’m evaluating your physical appearance? Is that why you couldn’t look me in the eyes anymore when the robe came off? Averting your gaze like that suggests you feel shame, but there’s no reason to feel that way with me.”

Admittedly, you hadn’t considered that, but you suppose he had a point. Years of being pressured to be the “perfect lady” were hard to shake off.

“Aren’t you always reading and evaluating me, though?” you said over your shoulder. “That’s your job, right?”

“Yes, but I can read you much better with my hands. For example,” his thumbs pressed into your shoulder blades, causing you to flinch, “you continue to carry stress here, so this is an area I will have to maintain and watch over.” His hands migrated up to your neck and he began to wind his thumbs, searching for abnormalities. “And I think you have a headache. This feels off.”

You sighed, “It’s my allergies and the meds didn’t help. It’s been like that all day.”

“I may be able to help you. The session may release some chemicals that can make you feel better. Tonight, we should do a reverse prayer tie. That position can open your chest and alleviate stress.”

“Isn’t ‘reverse prayer’ a yoga pose?”

“Yes, but you can’t get out of this one,” he explained, pulling one of the ropes off his shoulders with a whirring sound. “Once you’re tied up, you don’t have use of your arms until I give it back to you.”

The thought of him taking full control made the muscles between your legs pulse involuntarily. You deeply regretted not taking more time for yourself to address certain needs this week, but as you were only wearing panties this session and your legs were crossed beneath you, it was wasteful to ponder on what you should have done. You just hoped he wasn’t going to ask you dirty questions; your body was too responsive to him already.

“I understand,” you said, trying to direct your focus away from the ache growing in your loins.

Hoseok moved the pads of his fingertips lightly along your shoulders, then grasped and pulled them back gently. “Push your shoulders back and open your chest. Take deep breaths for me.”

The blades of your shoulders closed in as you lifted your chest and breathed slowly. You were unable to watch Hoseok working behind you, but the sounds of the ropes’ ends popping along the floor as he folded over the lengths tickled your ears. His fingers gingerly took your arms and folded them into the reverse prayer position, stretching the muscles in your chest and elbows as your hands met, palm to palm, along the center of your spine.

“Do you mind if I tie at my normal speed tonight?” he asked lowly, squeezing his hands methodically around your arms, from your shoulders to your elbows.

“What speed is that?”

“Fast. You may feel the ropes burn a bit, but you’ll be tied sooner and then we can spend more time on other things I have planned,” you heard him smile at that last part. It took you almost no time to consider your options, being more than intrigued by the option.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you from working in your ‘natural state,’” you teased over your shoulder.

At those words, Hoseok moved quickly to secure the hold on your arms. Your ears were soon filled with the zipping sounds of the ropes passing through his hands. His fingers threaded the cords briskly between the upper and lower portions of your left arm, making them hiss along your skin. Admittedly, you may have enjoyed the graze of the ropes a little too much as you felt him bind your limb near the elbow. The sound of astonishment that squeezed from your heaving lungs communicated to him how foolishly you underestimated his level of efficiency, as your poor arm was rendered immobile in less than a minute.

“How are we doing?” he asked, dragging his fingertips across the blades of your shoulders to move to your right arm.

“Good,” you breathed. “You’re faster than I thought.”

“I’ve been doing this a long time,” he replied. Pulling the loose ends of the ropes taut against your lower back, he commenced wrapping them carefully around your right arm. As soon as the cords were threaded along the bend of your arm, however, he resumed tying your upper and lower arm at a rapid pace. The rope scratched as it slid along your skin, only to be retrieved and wrapped around your limbs again to further secure its hold.

“Hm, forgot the short rope…” he mumbled to himself, then addressed you. “I’ll be back in a moment. Don’t move.”

You nodded as the thuds of his boots grew faint and you were left bound, alone in your room. Sweat began to collect in the palms of your hands, still kissing, while your elbows began to feel stiff against the ropes. They ached, yearning for freedom, but you knew the bonds were too secure to grant you a modicum of relief. The constriction made you pant, your naked breasts rising and falling rapidly with each breath. Each exhalation made the heat of apprehension creep along, from your chest to your neck. Your vision grew fuzzy around the edges.

The urge to move and free yourself began to creep into your mind—when you heard him return to your room and place a few items on your side table, just outside of your view. You craned your neck, heaving breaths continuing to mount, as you strained to see what he was doing. You began to get dizzy, your body trying to shift and failing to complete the task. Panic permeated your thoughts, your consciousness slipping, as your mind filled with a growing fear of his unknown plans. How long were you to be constricted? What were those tools he set on the table? Would they hurt…were you in danger?

“Hoseok,” you whimpered as you jerked against the ropes, struggling to breathe, trying to twist to see what he was doing.

“Hey, hey,” he called to you, crossing to the other side of the bed to face you directly. Upon seeing your eyes, distressed and dilated with adrenaline, with your lips swollen and trembling, he clambered onto the bed. His face remained unreadable as he braced your waist to lift your body up into a kneeling position. As your body became upright, he wrapped his arms around your frame, pressing his chest firmly against yours to stabilize your condition.

“Breathe for me, ___,” he hummed in your ear as he pulled you closer to him. “Everything is okay. Just give me a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth slowly, come on.”

You buried your head in his shoulder and inhaled, taking in his earthy scent as the buds of your exposed breasts grazed the soft fabric of his shirt, setting goosebumps alight on your chest. As you exhaled, his hands spread and pressed affectionately, his left clinging tightly around your upper back while the thumb of his right hand brushed tenderly along the curve of your lower spine. Anchoring your chin on his shoulder to keep him close, the warmth of his embrace consumed and grounded you. Your panic began to gradually disintegrate as you closed your eyes to take him in again, before sputtering out a shaky breath. In that moment, as you felt yourself be restored, you wished your arms were free so you could hug him back.

After a few moments passed in silence, he released you and moved his hands to cup your face, examining your eyes again. “There we go, almost lost you,” he smiled gently, brushing his thumb against the apple of your cheek.

You nodded in return, then sighed remorsefully, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t see what you were doing, my arms,” you shrugged your shoulders, still restricted by the tie.

His hands fell away from your face as he helped your legs fold back into their original seated position.

“There's nothing to apologize for; your reaction is quite common for novice shibari participants. Your fight-or-flight response kicked in. Your skin heated up, your pupils dilated, your pulse quickened. It’s the response your body uses to protect you from danger, real or imagined. You can counteract that with oxytocin, the hormone that forms bonds between people and builds trust. The fastest way I could give you that was physical touch, which is why I held you. I'm only sorry I couldn't get to you sooner," he frowned, standing away from the bed and rubbing his hands together. "If you feel that again, that pain in your chest, just use your safeword. Use it five minutes before you really need it; I may not be able to bring you back every time. Shall we continue?”

A silence lingered between the two of you as you let his words marinate. You weighed the potential risks and consequences of continuing, but also considered the benefits, and gave your answer.

“I want to.”

“Are you sure? I need you to trust that I won’t leave you tied up too long or do anything to knowingly place you in danger. I’m not fully convinced you trust me yet, or else you would have stayed still like I instructed instead of trying to sneak a peek at the side table,” he smirked, scolding with his eyebrows.

“You’re right. I need to learn to trust you better,” you admitted.

Hoseok looked satisfied with your response, then his eyes meandered from yours down to your exposed chest.

“How toasty does your body feel right now?”

Your eyes darted down to your breasts, then back up to his face, and you flushed harshly in embarrassment. “Are you asking me if the turkey is done?! They aren’t always going to be hard and ready!”

A bellowing laughter erupted from him as he bent over to try and contain it. “Oh, you think I don’t know that, huh? After all these weeks of building trust together, you still think I’m up to something sinister. Trust, my ass!”

Your eyes watered as you joined in his laugh, hunching over and giggling at his reaction. He grumbled like a disappointed parent, scolding playfully, as he moved around the edge of the bed to resume working behind you. The ropes rushed through his hands as he took hold of your wrists and began a two-column tie to bind them together at the center of your upper back.

“For the record, I am asking how hot you are because your body heat may increase throughout the evening, and I want you to be as comfortable as possible. I can’t look at your breasts and tell the temperature, ___, although they  _are_  telling me you are more relaxed than you were when I started. And  _that_  makes me happy.” With that final, satisfied word, he cinched the rope with a sharp yank of his wrists, and tied a thick knot, fully securing you into the reverse prayer position.

Tracing the palm of your hand with two of his elongated fingers, he calmly instructed, “Squeeze.”

Your fingers fiddled lightly against his. “Why?”

“I need to make sure you’re getting enough circulation.”

Your palm wrapped around his fingers and gave a moderate squeeze, letting him know the ropes weren’t too tight for you to withstand. They felt warm and capable in your hand, his knuckles sturdy from years of practicing his craft.

“So, what do you have planned for me next?” you inquired, squeezing his hand a final time to reassure him before he pulled away from your touch.

“I’m going to take care of that headache,” he answered, his hands sliding from your shoulders to your head. With two short tugs, he freed your hair from the bonds of the tight, workplace bun, letting your locks cascade to release the tension built up by your long day. Your scalp buzzed as you strained to hear what he was doing. Light taps sounded off your side table and Hoseok began to hum the familiar tune he always used when he was deeply focused. Continuing the melody, he shifted his stance behind you, the weight of his boots moving closer. Sweeping his hand softly over your hair, you felt relaxation's reconnection—and became anchored and assured the moment you felt the bristles of a hairbrush drag gently across the side of your scalp. The action abruptly disarmed you as your lips pressed together, muffling a sound of contentment as you relished the light pull of each pass through your tangled mane.

“Mm…,” you smiled, closing your eyes in bliss as your head swayed against the brush and the palm of his pleasing hand. “No one has brushed my hair in years. I missed this so much.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he whispered tenderly. “Tell me how your week has been.”

“It’s been...bad, I guess,” you began in a quiet voice, shifting slightly against the ropes. “There is a new program at work we use to produce reports, but it is a piece of shit so the data is often wrong. And I get blamed for it, even though I didn’t write the program or mandate using it in the first place.”

“Sounds like a problem that is outside of your scope of control. Perhaps you should focus on yourself more. When was your last vacation?”

You chuckled to yourself and then answered, “Two years ago.”

“That might be an area you want to consider making a change. I’m sure you have plenty of leave stored up by now. It would be good to recharge your batteries, spend some time with yourself. Even if you go nowhere, it can restore some of what you’ve lost in pursuit of work.”

The bristles of the brush continued to massage your scalp in sweeping harmony. Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned your head farther back for his access, your breasts erect, enjoying the cooling breeze of your ceiling fan.

“I wish I would take better care of myself,” you confessed, barely audible.

“You make it sound like your mind has already accepted defeat. Why is that?”

“It’s been—

A lump caught in your throat as your thoughts fell on how long it had been since you really felt peace. “It’s been so many years of staying afloat,” your voice cracked. “I've lost track of everything important.”

Hoseok stopped brushing your hair and placed the tool on the side table with the lightest of taps. He said no words, only moved to graze your palms with his fingers again to let you know he was changing movements. You felt him pull on the knots binding your wrists, the sounds of the unraveling ropes slowly filling your ears. With each tug, a part of you felt restored as your limbs regained their mobility one by one. After his hands worked to release you, he diligently rubbed your arms from shoulder to wrist in tender strokes. Tingles tickled across your skin as the ropes left their impression on you, the feeling keeping you ensnared as your arms dangled freely.

“How do you feel right now, emotionally?” he asked.

You considered your previous discussion about your workweek before giving your answer. “I feel vulnerable, open I guess, but not in a bad way.”

Two of his fingers stiffened, then trailed deliberately up the curve of your spine. Then, down again—to the edge of the waistband of your panties.

“And physically?”

The inflection of his question did not escape your attention. It sounded promising, like he had specific plans dependent on your answer to his question. His tracing fingertips were electric against your body, and your head was buzzing from having your hair pampered so well.

“My arms are tingly, but I feel like I’m finally breathing," you responded contently. "Your hands feel really nice.”

“Thank you. Shall we move on to the next part?”

You nodded your head—then a black, satin curtain fell over your eyes, blocking your vision. With a smooth fold and pull, the sash hugged your skull gently, secured by a knot of his making.

“A blindfold?” you quipped.

“Last week we learned how receptive you are to sounds and touch. Tonight, I’m going to amplify those senses by taking away your sight for a little while. It will also motivate you to rely on my voice and my directions,” he clarified.

“Ah, I see. Well, I can’t see, but I understand you,” you beamed as you enjoyed your own joke a little too much.

“Good,” he chuckled. “What I’m going to put you in now is called a spiral futomomo. It will bind the lower half of your leg to your thigh and keep you from moving it. I will tie both of your legs this way.”

Your ears perked with excitement as he continued to explain the tie to you: its benefits, its uses. As he finished, you asked, “What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to trust me. I will guide your hand to touch parts of the rope at certain intervals so you can feel what I’m doing. I don’t want you to feel afraid of this; I want you to enjoy the pull and grip of the ropes.”

Sighing deeply to prepare yourself, you signaled you were ready. Hoseok took your hand and glided your fingers over the cords of the ropes. They felt smooth and pleasant, ready for their purpose. His hands moved to rotate your body toward the long side of the bed where he would have more open space to work.

“Scoot back a bit and plant your right foot on the mattress,” he instructed.

You did as he required and bent your right leg, resting your foot near the bed’s edge. The position felt awkward to you, but the stretch opened your hip graciously. His hand returned to rest on your knee, then slid down to your ankle, squeezing it softly. You felt the glide of the rope as it wound around your ankle once, then a second time. His fingers threaded cords against your skin and your ankle twitched as he tied a sharp knot and tugged against it, testing its security. Then he reached for you, taking your hand so you could feel the bumps of the knotted rope.

“I’m going to push your foot back so your calf touches the underside of your thigh. This tie works best the tighter your leg is bent.”

With those words, he pressed your leg tightly together and you felt the pull of the rope on your ankle as he drew it tightly, preparing for the first wrap. You jumped as you felt his hand press to your inner thigh, igniting excitement in your belly. After the press, you felt the ropes wind once…twice…three times around your leg. The hug of the ropes was snug, as Hoseok kept firm tension on them with each pass around your flesh. He tied a knot at the top of your knee—some kind of loop and pull-through—though you weren’t sure from the lack of vision.

“Here,” he mumbled, taking your hand again and brushing your fingers across your inner thigh, “all the rows are evenly spaced to disperse the tension properly.”

You grinned as you felt the jute ropes and touched the loops at the top of your knee. Your searching fingertips detected loose ends dangling on the side of your leg. “What happens to the rest of the rope?” you asked.

“I’m going to thread the tails through each of these loops,” he answered as he plucked each wrap like he was plucking the strings of a guitar.

Hoseok tugged on the tails of the ropes and began to pass them through the first loop at your knee. What he neglected to mention was the ropes would pass through the little gap between your calf and your thigh—the soft layer of skin most sensitive to touch. Your breath stuttered upon realizing this, but you quickly corrected your breathing in the hopes he wouldn’t notice, him being so close to you, tying your legs diligently. As the ropes threaded under the first wrap, you felt the pads of his fingertips press into the flesh of your thigh to loop the rope, cross it over the corded bridge he just made, and weave it through, pulling the tails down toward your core. The feeling of his ropes moving against your legs was exhilarating; you became thankful to be blindfolded so as not to bore your eyes hungrily into watching him work. You knew the sight of it would only worsen the tension of your situation. Knowing how close he was to touching you  _there_  made you ache, but you couldn’t bear to let yourself get lost in that fantasy knowing he could—and would—read you immediately.

Hoseok repeated the action two more times, each loop earning a swift tug that made your leg tremble. Your breath quickened as you felt his hand only inches away from your heat. Thankfully, he didn’t remain there long as he tucked the tails under your thigh and brought the ends to the outer side of your leg. That movement, so close to the curve of your ass, was unexpected—but made your heart beat more quickly for it. You felt his fingers begin to loop the rope on the outer side of your leg in a similar fashion to the inner thigh work he just completed; he threaded the cords around the leg wraps, made a loop, then moved to the next wrap. The final loop rested at the crest of your knee, where he quickly tugged hard on the ropes and tied them off with a simple knot.

“See? Nice and tight,” he beamed, as he took your hands and rubbed them against his masterpiece. Only after touching the finished product did you fully appreciate how methodical and precise the tie was; each knot and wrap of the rope fit beautifully into the larger picture of securing you according to his design.

Repeating the tie pattern on your other leg, you felt less flustered by his motions, although a part of you had to admit to yourself that you were enjoying how tantalizingly close he was, how skilled he plucked the ropes, how delicious it felt to have the ropes sear the flesh of your thighs. The corners of your mouth spread in delight with each passing step. In short time, you felt him finish up the second leg with a final knot.

Hoseok sighed contently at his craftsmanship, sounding satisfied, then took your hand and moved it to your side to rub the soft, puffy pillow next to you. He took the ends and fluffed the cushion vigorously and playfully, making you laugh, and then continued to the next phase of the session.

"I'm going to lift you up and flip you on your stomach. But the futomomo ties can be painful if you’re lying flat face-down, so I am going to place this pillow under your hips to support them.”

You nodded in understanding as his hands pressed against your open knees and rotated your seated position about forty-five degrees. As you were now facing the foot of the bed, you leaned over to begin lying on your stomach—but your legs couldn’t move because they were bound, behaving like two large, stubborn fans. As you struggled, unable to shift into the correct position, you felt his firm, strong arm slink under your waist and wrap tightly around you. Lifting upwards slowly, he allowed your legs to fan out for a moment before you felt the soft plush slide between your legs, nesting against your clothed core. Hoseok was right; without the pillow, your legs would have fully spread to the point of overextended pain.

“There we go,” he hummed, slipping two fingers underneath the ropes highest on your waist and pulling, examining the tightness of them. Your lack of vision made his fingers feel more deliberate and sure. His tug on the ropes made the pillow shift against you, causing you to lift your hips and tighten your thighs around it. The flex of your body around its softness was paired with the rough graze of the ropes’ rows on your tender thighs, and those opposing sensations made you whimper as you spread your body out against the sheets and elongated your back. Your body’s response to the position seemed to please Hoseok, as you could hear him mutter affirmations as he moved to the foot of the bed where your arms were outstretched.

Your ears perked as you heard him move your vanity chair close to the mattress’ edge with a screech, the wooden legs rubbing against the floor. You heard the squish of the cushion as he sat down, clearing his throat. Craning your neck and lifting your head, you pressed your hands into the sheets to listen for his voice.

His fingers pinched the edge of your blindfold to readjust it slightly. The little brush of satin tickled your face, making you smile into the darkness as you lowered your head to rest into your folded arms.

“I want you to focus on the sound of my voice,” he said as his hands began to knead your upper arms and shoulders. You purred in a half-muffled response as you nodded slowly, letting your upper body roll against his movements.

“Think about the last time you felt truly relaxed. It could have been a specific time in your life, or a specific place. Go there in your mind.”

His thumbs began to wind deeply against the folds of your skin. You mewled as you felt his pressure disperse into your sore muscles, overtaxed by your stressful week. Thoughts of your favorite creek from your childhood began to peek through your swaying mind. His adept fingers migrated to the lower column of your neck, compelling you to press your face farther into the mattress to offer him a flatter surface area to work. With each shift of your upper body in response to him, the pillow between your legs laved against the underside of your body.

Rotating the pads of his fingertips against your skin, he lowered his voice, “Now that you are relaxed, imagine what you want most in this life. It can be a personal goal, a feeling, a person. There are no limits. There are no obstacles; no coworkers, no ringing phones. Pull that wish into the foreground of your relaxed place, and hold it there.”

Your thoughts drifted from item to item, person to person, as you tried to imagine what you wanted most, but it was difficult to pin down. The choice changed several times as you began to hear the soothing sound of water running over the round rocks of the creek bed in your mind. Your breathing slowed as your skin heated up under his increasingly firm strokes and motions.

Hoseok’s pace shifted as his hands swept up the sides of your neck, resting at the lymph nodes under your jaw. He rotated his fingers against them, eliciting an audible sigh from you as you savored his touch. You felt your heart quicken as the thudding beats filled your ears, you face flushing intensely. His fingers inched up your jawline to thread into your hair, making your eyes water in bliss behind the blindfold. A gentle moan escaped your throat as his venture into your scalp summoned sensual electrical pulses throughout your brain.

“Good, ___. Focus on the feeling I am giving you, the feeling you are giving yourself by letting go.”

The sound of his voice, combined with the pressure of his fingers, made you shift your body in an effort to be closer to him. The restriction of the ropes binding your legs made it difficult to move, but you relished feeling the ache in your muscles, the soft pillow lodged between your thighs. The smile growing on your face was hidden from his view, but each twist of his fingertips made you purr in delight, gaining his praise.

His hand cradled your skull as his fingers wove between the strands of your hair—then, clenching his hand into a fist, he tenderly pulled your hair. The tug brought forth a wave of euphoria that washed over your scalp and cascaded down your spinal column to settle between your thighs. Your body reacted as your hips rocked against the pillow. The pressure of the reflex informed you how swollen your clit had become during the course of his work. You hadn’t noticed how sensitive you were before, having been focused on his voice and instructions, but now you could only fantasize over how the cotton of your panties could make for the perfect surface to rub against. Your lips parted as you felt your nipples grow hard against the sheets of your bed. Hoseok pulled your hair again, making you moan softly as your hips bucked involuntarily against the cushion again.  _Oh god_ , you thought, as a haunting pressure began to curl in the pit of your stomach,  _I need to come._

“Do you want more?”

His voice was laced with darkness, his fingertips digging into your scalp with the confidence of knowing your answer based on your nonverbal cues. Your core throbbed as you pressed your thighs against the pillow, trying to sate your hunger. The body you inhabited only felt rooted by his hands which clung to your hair and the ache in your swollen labia as they repeatedly rubbed against your panties, seeking more friction. Words were lost on the sensory overload you were experiencing at his mercy, as a sweat broke on your skin and your mind struggled to focus on anything but the need for release.

“P-please…,” you mewled, unfolding your arms to cling the folds of your bed sheets, the hardened buds of your bare breasts pressed against the mattress.

“Please, what?” he corrected in a firm tone.

You swallowed hard as your core throbbed again, compelling another shift of your hips to bring you that much closer to the edge of the bed—and the edge of finally getting what you wanted for weeks.

“Master…” you whispered into the blackness as your tongue raked over the front of your teeth and you spread your bound legs to increase the pressure of your clit against the pillow beneath you.

“That’s right, pet. I will give you what you want if you are good and let me hear your exquisite moans.”

You felt the pull of your hair again as the pulse of his touch fluttered across your skin, making you gasp. Desperate to have the release you craved, you whined a frantic “please” as your consciousness began to hover over your body.

His fingers spread to the sides of your head and massaged the temples. “Think about the last time your body burned under someone’s touch.”

Your brow pursed as you panted beneath him, rolling your hips again. Spreading your legs allowed your lower lips to part, causing the cloth of your panties to stick to your arousal. You became consumed with how rewarding it felt to graze your swollen nub against the pillow. Wanton moans emanated into the crumpled sheets.

“Good,” he praised, gripping the hair above your ears with both hands and tightening his fists, drawing out the skin from your skull deliciously at a repeated cadence, making you sink your teeth harshly into your bottom lip.

“Now,” he continued, through gritted teeth, “let Master watch you roll that wet pussy into the pillow like the dirty girl you are.” With that command, he loomed over your body and dug the nails of his hands into your lower back, then raked them through your sweaty skin, from your waist to your shoulders, setting your flesh ablaze—before collecting your hair in a ponytail and drawing it tight against your scalp. You keened under him, your body immune to pain, every scratch of his nails feeling like a possessive lick from the forked tongue of the devil, and you couldn’t get enough.

Your breaths began to sputter as you felt your release approach. Grinding your hips against the plush salvation beneath your core, you called to him, “M-mast—

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he cooed as his hands moved to knead your shoulders, further slurring your speech.

“Mm—I need to c-come,” you rasped, gripping the sheets as your hips grounded your heat into the pillow, rotating in small circles.

“I can see that,” he stated clearly, a smirk in his tone. “Why don’t you give yourself what you want and come for me, then?”

The timbre of his voice made the muscles of your core clench around nothing. You whined as you continued to rut against the cushion, feeling the tension of the ropes torch your legs as you hissed. He leaned down next to your left ear and began to growl.

“I bet your nipples are so hard as they kiss this mattress, ___. Do they feel good?”

You mewled in agreement as you became lightheaded, the room starting to spin.

“But not as good as your clit, hm? It’s got to be so swollen and scorched by now, with you rutting like that, so eager to get off. It’s a privilege watching you squirm,” he whispered wickedly.

Reciprocating his praise, your hips rolled against the pillow in desperate ferocity, your breath quickening as carnal need took over. Hoseok threaded your hair in his skilled hands one last time, pulling tenderly as he leaned to the other side of your head.

“Come for me, ___,” he hissed against the shell of your right ear.

You moaned in response, consumed with lust and insatiability. Your hands, which had been gripping the sheets next to you, moved quickly to search for him—for anything to hold on as your body was on the verge of collapse. The scouting fingertips of your hands found the taut fabric of his pants, and you clung urgently. Your palms rubbed over his thighs, feeling his muscles flex unexpectedly under your touch. The dance of them against your hands made you dig your claws into him, dragging your nails down his legs like you were marking your territory. He grunted, but said no words, instead replying by digging his nails into your shoulder and scratching slowly and deliberately up the side of your neck. The fire of his touch felt like the grazing of teeth against your flesh, and his decision to match you, pain for pain, was enough to push you over the edge.

“Hoseok, I-I’m…” you wailed into the sheets as your core contracted in a spastic manner, your heat bound with zeal to the pillow for that one last ounce of pressure. Cries of pleasure tumbled from your tongue as you rolled your hips, letting the shattering wave of your orgasm continue to wash over you with each pass of your core against the soft plush.

He flattened his palm and cradled your head, stroking your hair gently and leaning in again, “That’s it, ___.”

Panting heavily as your cheek pressed into the mattress, you struggled to communicate, overwhelmed by the ropes binding your legs and the powerful release which had ripped through your body and left your ears buzzing. You whined as you tried to reach for your legs, but as you were unable to bend your hips, you remained anchored to the cushion.

Hoseok stood from his seat and walked to the side of the bed, his hand gliding down your form to let you know where he was heading. He slid his arm under your waist to remove the pillow, then turned you over onto your back. Taking your arm and placing it on his shoulder, he lifted your back off the mattress to place you in a seated position. Upon sitting up, your legs fanned open and the ropes squeezed your legs, making you fuss at the soreness, your body wrought with exhaustion. Your arm slipped as you struggled to stay upright, but Hoseok reacted quickly enough to catch you and re-position his shoulder to keep you steady.

“I know you’re tired and you’re not all here yet, but I’ve got you,” he reassured.

His fingers pinched the top of the blindfold and slid it over your head. Your eyes blinked several times as spots danced in your vision. Still floating and in a haze from the session, it was difficult for your mind to fully return to itself. Your eyes glanced down at your legs, puffy and straining against the ties he had placed you in. Gliding up your legs, your view settled between them, on a strikingly noticeable dark spot on your panties, evidence of your unhinged arousal soaking through the fabric. The sight made you panic as you struggled to turn your legs to cover it, but the ropes made the task impossible.

“Look at me, ___,” he urged as he took his hands and placed them on the sides of your face, examining your state. You bit your lip as your eyes readjusted slowly to meet his. As he came into view, the dark pools of his eyes looked much larger than you remembered, but they were calming and sincere—even as he looked concerned. His thumbs brushed the apples of your cheeks lightly.

“Welcome back,” he smiled. “You may have trouble communicating as your senses come back from subspace, so I just want you to hang onto my shoulder and watch me, okay? Can you nod your head for me?”

You nodded and repositioned your arm to secure a better hold of him. His eyes located the knots keeping you bound and began to tug at them swiftly to release you from their bonds. Your legs bloomed with goosebumps as his fingers dipped against your inner thighs to pull the ropes out, the glide of the cords rubbing softly against your sensitive skin. As the wraps were unwound, the bumpy impressions of the ropes served as a reminder of what your body had been put through, only doubling the feelings of fatigue you were having as a full yawn sounded from within your chest.

As the last of the ropes were freed, Hoseok grabbed your ankles to stretch out your legs. A low whine squeezed from you as you felt how much they ached, to which Hoseok took his hands and rubbed your thighs and calves in deep, sweeping motions, encouraging circulation. The muscles pulsed under his touch, but you were thankful he was so attentive to your needs.

“Now,” he began as his hands continued to sweep against you, “I really don’t think walking is going to be an option for you yet. Without that, you can’t take a bath safely on your own. But I think it’s rather rude to leave you this way so, I’m going to run to my bag and grab a few things and I will be right back.

You hummed in response as you watched him leave. After a few minutes, he came back into the room with a damp washcloth and glass of water.

“Take this first, slowly,” he offered you the glass of water and pulled out a pack of ibuprofen from his pocket. “You might feel it in the morning.”

You took the glass, tossed the capsules into your mouth, and drank the water at a slow trickle. The flow of liquid into your body helped you understand why he stressed the importance of drinking water so much before sessions. Despite all your efforts, it felt like you were dehydrated again.

“I’m confident that you can use your arms to take off your panties and get cleaned up. Your grip was definitely all there at the end of the session,” he teased, making your cheeks bloom in exposure. “Here, take the washcloth. I’ll lift the blankets and turn my back so you have privacy.”

You nodded, taking the cloth as you saw him turn and lift his arm, creating a blanket shield between you so you could clean yourself away from his view. You laid down and placed the washcloth on your tummy as you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and slid them down your legs. The task was exhaustive, as your body’s muscles struggled to move to help you along. You were definitely not in full control of yourself, and you grumbled in frustration at not being able to execute so simple a task as taking off your panties.

“This is a normal response, ___. Take your time, I’m in no rush,” he said calmly, continuing to stand facing away from you.

Managing to kick the soiled clothing off your ankle, you took the washcloth and pressed it to your heat, rubbing gingerly to clean yourself. Your labia were still swollen and sensitive, your body wanting to recede from the abrasions of the rag, but you knew you had to finish. As you continued to wipe your body down, your eyes wandered toward Hoseok. His form stood tall, relaxed, like it was just another day at work for him. His chest rose and fell in steady, focused breaths as his forearm flexed to keep the blanket still. Your eyes drifted toward the large vein that ran from his hand up his arm, and you felt your core clench against the washcloth. The feeling compelled you to quickly finish up before tossing the rag to the side table farthest away from his reach.

“I-I’m done,” your voice squeaked. Hoseok pulled the blanket high and then draped it over you.

“Would you like for me to fetch your pajamas?” he cooed.

You scooted your body down into the sheets until half your face was covered. “I don’t think I can get them on right now.”

“I can help you,” he offered. “Would you like that?”

Poking your head out from the covers, you smiled and nodded. He walked toward your dresser and pointed his finger at the drawers. “Which one?”

He slid his finger down the side of the dresser until you signaled for the middle one. He opened it and laughed, grabbing the oversized Sailor Moon nightshirt and held it up for you. A renewed flood of embarrassment made you cower under the covers again.

“I’m an adult,” you mumbled with a pout, muffled from being hidden.

“This shirt is cotton, comfortable…includes the lesser known Sailor Scouts. I’d never get rid of it,” he teased. “Arms up, please.”

You sat up, lifted your arms overhead, and felt the chilled slide of the clean shirt down your arms and over your chest. Breathing a sigh of comfort, you realized a very important detail.

“Um…I need panties. Can you grab some from the top drawer?” you asked meekly.

“Sure,” he answered, opening the drawer and grabbing a pair of scarlet, cotton panties. “Do you need help getting these on? I noticed you struggled earlier getting the others off, but I can use the blanket and help you, if you want.”

“Yeah…my legs are jello. I would appreciate it,” you replied, shyly watching him approach the foot of your bed. He took the bottom of the blankets and flipped them up, rolling the covers up your legs until they reached your mid-thigh. Wrapping his fingers gingerly around each ankle, he looped the panties around your feet. As he hooked his thumbs into the fabric and began the glide up your calves, his eyes remained focused on your legs. You were immensely grateful for his concentration, as the feeling of him touching your bare legs again began to reignite the flame between your legs. The band of cotton laved against your skin as his hands slid them over your knees and rested high on your thighs.

“You think you can take care of the rest?” he wiggled your ankle. Every wicked urge in you wanted him to finish the job, but your hope diminished when he flipped the blankets back down to cover your legs and moved the chair from the foot of the bed back to your vanity. You refocused on yourself, reaching down your thighs to your panties. As you pulled them up around your waist, the cool kiss of cloth felt relaxing and safe.

Hoseok approached the bed again and began to tuck the blankets under your body, packing you into a snug blanket roll.

“Is this treatment part of Appendix A? I don’t recall seeing it listed,” you joked, before yawning again.

“This is aftercare, which is my decision unless you use the safeword and tell me to beat it,” he chuckled, turning the light off. “I’ll see myself out. That smart lock system you have on the front door will automatically lock behind me, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, eyes growing heavy.

Hoseok leaned over you, brushed a bit of hair out of your eyes and patted the top of your head affectionately. “Goodnight, ___.”

“Goodnight, Hoseok,” you whispered into the dark as you drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 

The next morning, you awoke with a soreness in your body you hadn’t experienced before—but your chest and mind felt lighter and freer than ever. You stretched your legs as you squinted at the sun peeking through your window shades. Looking over at your alarm clock, you gasped as you saw the glowing numbers of 11:38 AM.  _Holy shit_ , you realized,  _I haven’t slept this late in months_. As the pads of your feet touched the cool, wooden floor, your mind flashed as it began to put back together the pieces of your evening session—his ropes, his touch, his command for you to come. The memory made your clit throb, and you groaned at the feeling. How physically attached you had become to him over the last few weeks, how quickly you could unravel like the ropes with which he tied you.

Heading toward your living room, you noticed a display of items set out in a neat arrangement on your kitchen table: Neosporin, two packs of ibuprofen, a small bag of Epsom salt, and another bath bomb. Below the items was a note, folded with your name written neatly on it.

> _Good morning ___,_
> 
> _I hope this note finds you well rested, although that sore feeling in your legs is 100% normal._
> 
> You chuckled to yourself at how he always seemed to predict everything, then continued reading.
> 
> _I’ve written instructions on how to make an Epsom salt compress on the back of this note. That will alleviate pain and inflammation, but if that doesn’t help, take more ibuprofen. On the small chance you have any burns or cuts from the ropes, I also left a pack of Neosporin to use to prevent any infections. I didn’t see any on your body tonight, but better safe than sorry. Lastly, please take a nice, long bath after you read this. I left the lavender bath bomb since you liked it so much last time. When you are done, I recommend stretching your legs and increasing your water intake for at least the next 24 hours, as you may feel dehydrated today as your body recovers._
> 
> _I hope you have a well-rested weekend and I’ll see you next week._
> 
> _H_

Your heart bloomed with emotion at his degree of care. Grabbing your phone, you typed out a quick text.

> **[11:56] You:**  Good morning! Thank you for the best night’s rest that I can remember. And thank you for all the presents. That was very thoughtful of you.

After a few moments, your phone beeped.

> **[11:57] Hoseok:**  Did you just wake up? My god, ___!

You laughed as your thumbs quickly keyed your response.

> **[11:57] You:**  …yep, just woke up.
> 
> **[11:58] Hoseok:**  Good. You needed it after last night. I’m glad you got lots of rest.

Your memories of moaning and writhing against the sheets flooded your mind, making you blush at his text.

> **[11:59] You:**  Yes, I really needed it. I haven’t felt this good in a long time. Thank you again, for everything.
> 
> **[12:00] Hoseok:**  It was my pleasure.

A sweet hum of contentment filled your chest—then sank heavy, like cement blocks, into the pit of your stomach.

You were falling for him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoseok struggles to process his feelings as he is haunted by his past.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _Countertransference risk identified: feelings of attraction for the client have developed over the course of treatment. Source of attraction believed to stem from displaced need for shibari partner with mutual sexual interests. Transference risk not yet identified, as there have been no discussions about client’s feelings toward others, unable to determine whether affections/actions are also displaced. There have, however, been a few slips (dialogue, physical touch) that would suggest client may be attracted. Future sessions may become inappropriate. This is only speculation at this time; further evaluation required._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Hoseok x Reader  
> Genre: Angst, Smut  
> Warning: Therapist!Hoseok, Shibari!Hoseok, therapist/client relationship, sexual themes, masturbation, infidelity, profanity  
> A/N: This chapter is from Hoseok's POV.

The high-pitched whistle of the tea kettle called Hoseok to attention, his mind adrift with thoughts of the upcoming workday. The soft pads of his fingertips rubbed his eyes gently, brushing away the last crunchy remnants of sleep, as he moved the kettle to a cooler burner on the stovetop and turned to open the pantry closet. The piercing squeak of the door was familiar to him now, as he had somewhat adjusted to his cramped apartment after only a few months. Admittedly, he still missed the open space of his last real residence, but he was determined to enjoy the quaint, quiet life he set up here, starting with his morning coffee.

The glossy bag of medium roast, Ethiopian coffee beans was one of the few luxuries Hoseok allowed himself these days. The crinkling sound of the packaging as he opened the contents made him feel relaxed, assured that he was starting the day with the best foot forward. Leaning closer to the opening of the bag, he breathed in the sweet, fruity notes of the beans and hummed contently. Taking the rounded measuring spoon from the countertop, he tenderly scooped three small heaps into the manual coffee grinder. He adjusted the dial for a coarser grind, taking his time as he turned the handle, breaking up the beans to bring them closer to their final form. Sure, it took more time this way, but Hoseok enjoyed the moment, respecting the extra effort it took to craft the perfect cup.

A small, glass French press sat waiting on the countertop. He took the kettle and tipped the spout toward the press, filling the glass with steaming water. The task of warming the device before use was optional, but he tried to make the time for it whenever he could. After all, it was the one of the benefits of working for himself: he could be a little delayed for the important things. His fingertips pressed against the glass to check its temperature, hopeful the heat would absorb into its transparent walls in due time. When the press was warmed to his liking, he poured the water into the kitchen sink and dried the glass with a fresh dish towel. As he added the coffee grounds to the vessel, Hoseok felt calm, closer to his goal. He gently spilled more water over the grounds, just enough to wet them without overly agitating the ingredient. Instinctively, he opened his kitchen drawer to retrieve a small teaspoon to lightly stir the mixture, assuring the grounds were saturated properly. When he was satisfied, he set the kitchen timer for thirty seconds, and waited patiently.

At the chime of the timer, he poured the remaining water to fill the French press, gave it another stir, then placed the plunger on top to seal in the heat rising from its contents. He set the timer again for three and a half minutes, lightly tapping his bare foot against the cold kitchen floor in anticipation. As the coffee began to take shape and evolve into the desired result, he rubbed his forearms, waking and warming the tendons for the work to come. After all, it was Friday, so he knew he would have to review and update records for at least the two clients he would see that day. At the final ding of the timer, he pressed the plunger gingerly to compress the grounds, filtering them. Eagerness built up in his chest as he approached the final step, pulling a worn coffee mug from the cabinet next to the sink. It was an old mug, to be sure, but as it had been a gift from his sister to commemorate entering college, he felt a sentimental attachment to it, even as the lettering of his alma mater continued to fade with each use. He lightly rubbed his thumb over a chipped spot on the mug’s edge, a casualty of his last move a few months ago, and took a deep sigh. It had been so long since he had seen his family, he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it, however damaged.

As he poured the coffee into the mug, the aroma of the beans filled his nostrils and brought a pleasant expression to his face. He lifted the cup to his chin, rotating it in his hands to avoid the chipped edge. Pursing his lips to blow a cold breath onto the liquid surface, he prepared to have a taste. The first sip fell onto his tongue and glided down his throat, bringing restorative warmth to his body. He closed his eyes and savored the moment, holding on to the feeling, before taking another drink and walking toward his desk tucked away in the corner of his living room. The glow of the computer screen was mildly annoying to him, as updating records was his least favorite aspect of his job, but at least working from home meant he could update in his sleepwear, which always consisted of loose cotton shorts and not much else.

He booted up the client database program and checked his calendar.  _Friday_ , he thought,  _just two clients today: Mr. Choi and ____. Mr. Choi was an old client of considerable wealth who cherished his privacy. He preferred Hoseok’s flexible style of counseling and lack of office, which allowed him to meet practically anywhere. Hoseok slid the cursor to the top of the screen to open Mr. Choi’s profile and review his summary notes:

> _Mr. Choi, male, 65 years of age. Long-term client for cognitive behavioral therapy. Initially sought counseling to reconcile feelings over wife’s terminal illness diagnosis. Wife passed away 4 months into treatment. Mr. Choi currently being treated for grief and mild agoraphobia following the loss of his wife._

Hoseok’s eyes skimmed past months of interview notes until he arrived at the last session, held a month earlier:

>   _Location/Time: Central Library – private reading room, 3:00 PM_
> 
> _Interview Notes:_
> 
>   * _Client reports continued struggle to leave the house, joked that the lack of office was good for him because it forced him outdoors. Assured him that treatment could continue outside of traditional office setting._
> 

>   * _Asked whether client planned on joining any local communities or support groups for the purpose of socializing. Client’s body language suggests he is reluctant to the idea at this juncture in his grieving._
> 

>   * _Recommendation for future sessions: Continue meeting in public places. Restaurant would be preferred to observe how patient interacts with others present in the same space. Identify social activities he used to do with his late wife which he enjoyed. See if there’s an activity present he would be able and willing to do again._
> 

>   * _Update: Mr. Choi agreed to meet at B’s sandwich shop off 5th for next session. Used to take his wife there regularly before she fell ill._
> 


The thought of a delectable deli sandwich made Hoseok nod his head in anticipation. He hoped the meeting in public this afternoon would allow him to see a different side to Mr. Choi and perhaps bring the client closer to being able to socialize independently.

Closing Mr. Choi’s file and feeling satisfied, Hoseok took another sip of his coffee. His finger tapped the mouse to open the next client’s file and view the summary notes:

> ____, female, age ___. New client since recent relocation. Seeking tantric services (massage, sex therapy, shibari) to counter work-life imbalances (sleep issues, anxiety) from an overworked position of power. Counseling included as needed based on verbal feedback and informal assessment. Further evaluations completed, as needed, according to category._

Hoseok expanded the subsequent files to review the additional evaluations:

> **Personality/Psychological Evaluation:** _Professionally, client favors orderliness and rules, adhering to prescribed mode of behavior as a gatekeeper who maintains structure. This has served her well in her career and earned her promotions, but cost her personally in terms of relationships and inner peace. Repeatedly shoulders the responsibilities of her department to the degree of feeling anxious or compelled to self-sacrifice. In spite of this, she shows impressive capability in her level of self-reflection, as she is able to evaluate her behavior and judge its rationale in real-time, then apologize if she feels her behavior was unjustified. Client is open to social interactions. Body language is very telling and easy to read. Exhibits humor and willingness to bond, initiates physical human contact through hugging to build connection without prompting. Overall, shows significant dedication to treatment as she continues participating in sessions, even when she’s nervous of the outcome. Projected diagnosis: generalized anxiety disorder (GAD), with need for further evaluations to confirm. No need for medical or psychiatric referral at this time, as cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) favored by the client._
> 
> **Physical Evaluation:** _Formal review of medical records show health is satisfactory. Carries stress in neck, shoulders, and upper back which make these areas tense very often. Requires frequent deep tissue manipulation in these areas as sessions are not frequent enough to train muscle memory. Signs of sleep deprivation apparent, but seems to be tapering off with continued sessions. Circadian rhythm may be off; light therapy may be beneficial as alternative to sleep aids. Body physically healthy enough for shibari participation. Able to enter subspace with no significant physical risks. Sympathetic nervous system working with higher level of intensity, as evident by heightened emotional responses during shibari sessions._
> 
> **Sexual Health Evaluation:** _Work-life imbalance causing prolonged issues in sexual health which require multiple forms of external stimuli to overcome. Masturbation recommended, but client sensitive to prescribed societal norms related to modesty, (likely due to upbringing, need to confirm). Client favors being submissive in sexual encounters, appears to be seeking partner capable of filling a dominant role, but has been unable to find one. Highly sensitive to tactile and auditory stimulation, should be used often to achieve optimal results. Roleplay highly favored, submits willingly when confronted with master persona. Heightened states of arousal frequently observed, body responds well to sexual stimuli of the BDSM variety._

Feeling his throat contract, Hoseok minimized the screen and opened the interview notes from last week’s session. Another gulp of coffee traveled hastily toward his stomach as he continued to read:

> _Location/Time: ___’s residence, 7:00 PM_
> 
> _Interview Notes:_
> 
>   * _Work issues mounting, recommended vacation. Discussion triggered emotional response, need to discuss further in future sessions._
> 

>   * _Shibari session – reverse prayer, spiral futomomo (both legs). Fight-or-flight reaction when I stepped out of the room, was able to bring her back with oxytocin and affection, client beginning to trust physical touch._
> 

>   * _Still feels shame related to prescribed social mores, but is breaking through, session performed with only underwear present._
> 


His stomach squeezed at the last bullet, as he recalled the proximity to ___ when he bound her—close enough to hear her scattered breaths, to smell the faint trace of growing arousal betwixt her legs, and know that her body longed for release. He could feel the warm, needy energy irradiating off her skin.

Shaking his head and clearing his throat, he struggled to refocus on reviewing the notes. The fact that he was still feeling the residual remnants of a session that took place a week ago greatly irritated him.  _Get it together_ , he chastised himself,  _she’s a client._

>   * _Involuntary full body and vocal responses to tactile stimuli around the scalp region, especially hair-pulling. Increasingly resistant pain threshold while in subspace._
> 


That had been a pleasant surprise, the degree to which she savored the tugging on her scalp. He wasn’t sure it would work, if he was being honest with himself. After the session, Hoseok began to wonder whether previous lovers had handled her that way—and whether she had enjoyed it as much as she did last week when she was rutting against the pillow tucked between her straining, bound thighs. The session had been informative, as he now knew she was flexible enough to spread flush against the mattress if he were to require it in the future, opening more possibilities and tying options in his mind.

The memory of her body elongated and tensing as she whimpered in the folds of the sheets flashed in Hoseok’s mind. He was pleased with how she had exhausted herself, working her body in a sweat in spite of being tied up. And as he sat at his desk a week later, zoned out at the screen, Hoseok realized it was probably one of the contributing factors which made her smell so intoxicating when it was over, with her soaked panties housing the source of the scent and her bound legs fanned open. The vivid image of the dark stain made his hand twitch against the mouse as he felt his dick press robotically against the underside of the desk.

“Fuck,” he huffed under his breath, leaning back in his office chair and squeezing his eyelids shut in frustration. He was never going to get through the notes in one piece, not if his memory insisted on revisiting every moment of previous sessions, but he tried not to dwell on the rumbling feelings of agitation. The way forward in ___'s treatment was clear in his mind. It wasn’t as if he had to review the notes to know what she needed; he remembered quite well how she responded to his touch as he held her body against his chest. She breathed him in, took in every scent, suspended the moment as she saw fit, and he remembered it well. Even the smallest grasp of her hand to guide her fingers to feel the knots of the ropes left behind a little tell, another clue leading him closer to meeting the unfiltered version of her—and last week Hoseok felt he finally caught a glimpse of her true, unhinged nature. The concern he might unravel was deeply frustrating to him.

The only solution in his mind was to stop the review of her file and take a shower to clear his head—a cold one. The trudge to the bathroom was slow, but Hoseok was determined to absolve himself. He had to refocus, had to shift it back to the treatment and away from his own wants in that moment. There had been so many clients in the past, so why was this an issue now?

The aim for absolution was in vain, however, as he turned the knobs of the shower. All he could remember was the satisfaction of drawing her lavender bath—and the sweet sigh she made as she brushed her fingertips against the indentations on her skin, left behind by his ropes, her willing prison. The memories percolated to the surface of his mind, creating a haze that only further fueled his imagination.

Stepping into the shower, Hoseok was greeted sharply by water too hot and afflictive for a sane man to withstand. He cursed, angry from having been too distracted to set it correctly. And yet, he didn’t adjust the temperature to alleviate the sting. Instead, Hoseok closed his eyes and resolved to let the searing pain tear into the flesh of his back, an impromptu punishment to pair with the deep-seated shame he felt in fantasizing over ___, a woman clearly off limits. The low, aching throb in his shaft informed him it was too late for his mind to retreat to what was proper and decent. If he wasn’t going to get over it, he would have to find a way to get through it.

Casting off moral standards came to mind as the water continued to prick at his back. Those standards had been a true obstacle, as he noted in ___’s records; they made her feel shame about taking her robe off in the first place. He was rather surprised, when she agreed to remove it in spite of her trained feelings, but he was so thankful—relieved. Not for himself, but for what it meant—she was finally going to surrender to his treatment and let go of what had been holding her back from getting the relief her body needed.

But the burning question he had was this: did ___ sink her claws into his thighs hoping he would reciprocate the action? Did she feel the muscles flex underneath her greedy fingertips and resolve to mark him? Recollecting how deep into subspace she was at the time, he suspected that she may have simply shown a more authentic side of her subconscious self, a side which wasn’t bound to the modest standards that normally restricted her.

Hoseok admitted to himself that seeing her in that state, with swollen lips parted, panting dulcet notes of need, as her face grew increasingly flushed, was enough to make his pants tighten with desire. It was as though she was calling to his dick in his baser, animalistic mind, and Hoseok never felt more relieved her vision had been shrouded under the blindfold.

A dark wish bled into his consciousness, overpowering his senses, as his left hand slinked down to grip the base of his length. He exhaled deeply at the satisfaction, the first touch of relief making his body react with urgency. His throat contracted as he swallowed hard at the feeling. As the water continued to lash against his reddening skin, he imagined how soft the skin of her back felt when he dug his nails into it that night, dragging the tips of his fingers along the slope of her body to draw out her pleasure. After hearing those honeyed moans, he no longer had to speculate; he knew she relished the sting, that she loved receiving pleasure laced with pain as much as he did.

The thought of it maintained a relentless rise and fall of his chest under the shower's billowing steam. How deeply satisfying it felt to glide his palm over his shaft as he recalled the whines of his name, ringing in his memory like a bell, spurring him on. He held it steadfast, the skin of his cock sliding back and forth under his commanding hand, firm and unrelenting from years of tradecraft. If only the hand around him was hers, he lamented, squeezing with the same intensity she employed when she held onto his thighs. He imagined the puncture of her nails perforating them and longed for another chance to exchange scratches across her back and neck. He wished he could have bitten her, taken a taste of the sweat from her skin, but she was off limits.

His right hand reached behind his back to dig his nails into his flesh, weakening the skin’s resistance against the onslaught of searing water. Hoseok released a low grunting sound from his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing in earnest as his rocking hand picked up speed, slipping and sliding in sweeping motions from the base of his cock to its swollen head. His thoughts hovered on the sight of ___ rooting and rolling her core against the cushion he placed beneath her. It was a sheer delight watching her come undone as she cried for him, grinding to sate her thirst. He groaned at the memory of seeing her juices soak into the cotton fabric of her panties: a complete waste, he recollected, as his member twitched in need that night, seeking that sweet scent of her—and she had been too far gone and fucked out to notice. And the music of her voice—the intoxicating sounds of her moans and whimpers as she gripped the sheets—how it riled him to the point of desperation, compelling him to palm himself while she was blindfolded, for a brief instant of peace, before tucking his eager erection into his waistband to avoid detection.

But here, in the confines of his private shower, he didn’t have to try to forget the moment she told her master she needed to come. He didn’t have to turn away for fear he would lose it and fuck her like he knew she needed.  _No_ , he mused with gritted teeth, pinching the skin of his frenulum and rolling it between his fingers. He could enjoy her uninhibited in this mental space—just this once—and never think about it again. He pressed his forehead against the cold tiles and shut his eyes, feeling himself grow harder with each pass of his palm, with each haunting memory. His breathing shallowed as the knots of his fingers dug greedily into the veins on the underside of his length. Each stroke grew more deliberate and desperate.  The fingertips of his free hand inched behind his scrotum as they searched for the firm spot that would help put him out of his misery. Upon locating it, his tendrils dug deep, winding circles against his prostate gland, his lower lip tucked between his teeth in ecstasy.

To be sure, he hated himself for how good this urge felt in his carnal, forbidden fantasy—his hips snapping wildly in a fervent sprint to resolution—but at least he would have her this way. God, he wished he could have her this way, bound and begging for him to let her come. With clenched abs and a strained call of ___’s name tearing from his throat, his cock made one final jerk before sputtering hot, translucent release down the side of the shower wall. Hoseok moaned into the steam as he milked himself in steady, languid rolls of his hips, savoring the fleeting moment, until he could finally dare to open his eyes again.

As the evidence of his act slid down the shower tiles, dissolving into the hot water in the tub below, he felt the pangs of shame return. Twisting to turn the knob to cold water, he tried to sober his mind, but the only sentiment he felt was failure: failure to adhere to his ethical principles, failure to control his lust, failure to recognize from the first meeting at the restaurant that ___ was just like him once—seeking a new, sordid venture from a vulnerable place and needing someone with experience to lead them there. He knew where that road could lead and how dangerous it could be for him, and for her. The consequences of attachment through the course of therapy could become permanent, damaging. He realized now, under the chill of the cold droplets, that he should have removed himself from the equation the moment he felt attraction to her, the moment he saw a potential sexual match. He grimaced under the weight of this realization; it felt like a punishment to him, to have met her under these circumstances.

As he stepped out of the shower and angrily toweled off, he couldn’t help but feel that he lacked the force of will to step away and leave her to her own devices or alternate treatment. Not when he, after his years of practice, had finally found a client that was so interesting to read, with problems so uniquely suited to his set of skills. It was ego, a paramount weakness and byproduct of his profession, and he knew it would haunt him every week as each session provided a new puzzle to be solved and another chance to occupy the same space as her.

The only relief Hoseok felt was knowing she was the only shibari client he had right now, as the other clients preferred the standard fare of treatment or rejected the practice outright. It was better this way, he thought, given how exhilarated he felt when she allowed herself to be bound by him at his natural speed. Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t stop thinking about the sessions; he needed them just as much, in his own way. He never dreamed he would find a pliant rope partner after only a couple months working in the area, but here she was, giving him the means to feel fulfilled in his work and his craft again. Nothing else made him feel more focused and at peace with himself, not after months of being adrift—not after  _it_  happened.

Returning to the computer, Hoseok took a deep breath and prepared a new note, deliberately left untitled, in ___’s records:

> _Countertransference risk identified: feelings of attraction for the client have developed over the course of treatment. Source of attraction believed to stem from displaced need for shibari partner with mutual sexual interests. Transference risk not yet identified, as there have been no discussions about client’s feelings toward others, unable to determine whether affections/actions are also displaced. There have, however, been a few slips (dialogue, physical touch) that would suggest client may be attracted. Future sessions may become inappropriate. This is only speculation at this time; further evaluation required._

He slumped in his chair, rereading the note with the gnawing pangs of guilt settling in the pit of his stomach. It was the right thing to do, to document each session this way, anticipating any and all obstacles to treatment—as if she was like every other client.  ____ is like every other client_ , he repeated in his mind.  _She has the resolve to get better, and she will, then the sessions will be over and you can think back on this as a learning experience and forget about her._

Closing the program and leaving to return to the kitchen, he begrudgingly turned his attention to the red ropes hanging loosely from the drying rack in the hallway. As had been customary, he washed them following every session, and he had been waiting on this set to fully dry for days, the humidity from the time of year prolonging the process. He grabbed the bundles and plopped them on his coffee table with a heavy thud. Given how defeating his day had been so far, he felt annoyed that he would be spending the last part of his morning re-oiling the very tools that placed him in this precarious dilemma in the first place. Still, it was necessary, as he knew tonight’s session with ___ would undoubtedly require them.

Retrieving a bottle of rope oil from his utility closet, he squeezed a small amount into his palms and rubbed them together, spreading slippery substance evenly across the expanse of his hands. He took one of the knotted ends of the rope closest to him and gripped it, firmly, then proceeded to slide the cord through both hands, transferring the slick oil from his palms to the fibers. The process was slow, methodical, and deliberate in his mind. There were definitive do’s and don’ts to rope maintenance.

 _“Not like that, you have to love the rope…”_  he heard a soothing voice instruct in the recesses of his memory. He corrected his technique, loosening his hold to refocus his efforts through his long fingers.

 _Yewon_. He learned everything from her, including this tedious procedure. His forearms flexed as he continued to sweep over the rope, remembering her recommendations, her calming hands passing over the jute, her beaming smile. Her rapturous love.

* * *

_**Four years earlier.** _

Hoseok was attending the last semester of his master’s program when he met Yewon. It was conference season, a time he dreaded as a sleep-deprived grad student. He felt his time was better spent as a devotee of the research library, but his advisor assured him this dog-and-pony show was necessary to procure funding for a Ph.D. program, which Hoseok repeatedly claimed to be uninterested in, citing “the insidious cost of mental healthcare to the working class.” His university had been selected to host a regional conference to discuss the relationship between mental and physical health, so naturally the event was brimming with highly opinionated students across multiple programs. Hoseok presented a paper there on the need to better evaluate mental health as part of the annual physical. The reception was mixed, as he suspected given the number of medical students in attendance, but he was simply relieved to be fulfilling that part of the degree requirement. He could check that box off and move on to his counseling internship.

Following the presentation, Hoseok stood leaning against the far wall of the lobby area, waiting as the conference prepared for the next round of speakers. His eyes scanned the room of attendees, hopping from person to person as he pondered on them, guessing their personality traits and majors. The air was thick with the desperation of scores of grad students in need of research funds. Their forced smiles and awkward introductions were painful to behold as a fly on the wall. It was such a common sight to observe this behavior at conferences; he could barely remember how many of these he had been compelled to attend as they often blurred together in his mind.  _We’re all sheep_ , he chuckled to himself, amused by the group behavior.

“Mr. Jung?” a confident voice called to him.

“Yes?” he answered before turning his shoulders toward the voice’s owner, feeling rather foolish when he beheld a striking young woman clutching a heavily scribbled conference brochure.

“Hi,” she greeted, offering her handshake, “I’m Lee Yewon. I saw your presentation earlier and I was wondering if, during your research, you had considered a partnership between mental health and manual therapy instead of medicine?”

He shook her hand slowly, a little surprised by how direct her question was. “I did, but the issue is that mental health needs to reach the largest number of patients, and insurance doesn’t cover all forms of manual therapy.”

“That’s true, but more patients can be reached depending on how the therapy is coded when it’s sent to the insurance claims department,” she quirked her eyebrow with a smile, then added, “I’m sorry, I’m a massage therapist. I probably should have led with that when I introduced myself.”

Hoseok nodded, intrigued by her enthusiasm, “So we just give up on the doctors, hm?”

“No,” she chortled, then leaned closer to whisper, “but I don’t think well-balanced treatment should wait on the status quo to catch up, do you?”

He chuckled, “I would agree with you.”

Buzzing noises began to fill the hall as the next round of presentations was about to begin. Hoseok hesitated, struggling to find the words to place the conversation on hold, but Yewon spoke first.

“Can I buy you a coffee after this? I’d really like to continue our discussion, maybe share some more ideas? If you want to, of course,” she offered as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiled.

He was utterly perplexed by her confidence, and more than interested in learning more about her philosophy of treatment—and about her.

“Sure, I’d like that very much.”

And that was how it all began. The coffee discussion lasted three hours, and quickly grew into mutual professional respect—then friendship. Then love. And the elation of finding a partner who matched him on every level was everything to Hoseok. Time slowed whenever Yewon graced the room, pulling the attention to herself with warm, excitable energy. It was addicting and was something he felt every day they spent together. It was an all-consuming, passionate bond—and he jumped in with both feet and kept running toward her direction, wherever she went.

It was during the course of their romance that he learned about shibari, after a night filled with moans and feather touches led him to discover her erotic self-portraits adorning the walls of her otherwise modest bathroom. She was nude, bound in rope, and suspended in air like she was floating. And it was the most rapturous vision of beauty and elegance Hoseok had ever beheld in his life.

“Mm, you like what you see?” she cooed as her arm wrapped around the relaxed muscles of his perspiring waist.

He threaded his fingers into hers and squeezed her hand gently. “It’s stunning,” he admitted. “I didn’t know you were into that.”

She planted sweet open kisses on his shoulder, then curled her lips into a devilish smile against his skin.

“Would you like to learn?”

* * *

Hoseok procured quite an education from her, he reminisced, winding the re-oiled ropes into tight coils. As he packed the bundles into his duffel bag next to the coffee table, he reflected on what he had been able to accomplish since graduate school, and felt good about it. He finished his master’s thesis on time and with high scores, despite the frequent late-night diversions he had at the willing hands of Yewon. And through her encouragement and support, he took the additional steps to become a licensed massage therapist a year later. It had been a good career move to make so early; she had been right all along about how well mental health and manual therapy could work together to help others.

But the road afterwards had been difficult. He recalled those first few months after finishing school where the weight of student loans forced him to take multiple jobs, working as a counselor during the day and moonlighting as a massage therapist at a local spa. The hours were long and grueling, as having two jobs often is, but he was content in the assurance he was helping others. Even if he was working himself to the bone, toil suited him. Hoseok shook his head as he remembered how much his hands ached every morning; he could barely take notes during his day job. Thankfully, however, his hands grew in strength and dexterity, due in large part to Yewon’s shibari instruction and participation.

* * *

**_Two years earlier._ **

“Have you ever thought about why no one has bothered combining the two? I mean, I feel like it could work,” Hoseok began as he opened his Chinese takeout box. “Massage tends to relax clients enough to where they are more open to talk about what’s bothering them. I hear crazier confessions on the table than I do on the couch, now that I think about it.”

Yewon shrugged, eyeing the food containers scattered indiscriminately across their dinner table that still had its price tag attached, “Probably the insurance red tape. The paperwork’s messy trying to combine things like that. Often times, insurance just rejects the claim—God, I love lo mein.”

“Hey!” Hoseok protested when she snatched his noodles and scuttled away, laughing like a hyena. He snipped his chopsticks playfully at her legs, his eyebrows furrowed in feigned disappointment. She took a seat across from him in the dining room of their newly moved-in apartment, mouth full of lo mein with sparkling eyes that took his breath away every time he saw them. She pouted her lip to glean his forgiveness, and his expression softened.

“I love you,” he assured affectionately, voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled and gently slid the box of noodles across the table back to him. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

A tender pause hung in the air as they enjoyed their meal. Hoseok lived for the quiet moments during their times spent in each other’s company. Soft chewing sounds and the light scraping of chopsticks against the cardboard takeout boxes created a delicate buzz about the room.

“Hey,” Yewon paused, setting down her chopsticks, “what if we did it?”

“Did what?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow as he crunched into a crisp spring roll.

“What if  _we_  combined them, in the same office? We could open a business sharing the same space, but charge things separately. I see chiropractors and nutritionists share space all the time. Their services aren’t coded the same with insurance, yet the client is able to get help with both practices in the same appointment.”

“Holy shit—

“I know!” Yewon exclaimed. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”

“You didn’t see it because you were probably blindfolded, my dear,” he quipped with a snicker.

“Oh my god…shibari. If it was  _our_  business, we could incorporate that into the practice! There are so many benefits and we both enjoy it. Ah, can you imagine?” she beamed as she took another enthusiastic bite.

Hoseok paused as his eyes fell to his meal, the modest lo mein which came to symbolize so many wonderful, transitional moments in their relationship: their first dinner date, first confession of love, first apartment, and now—first business.

“Let’s do it.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah,” he nodded, turning over the details in his mind, “We’ve saved a good chunk of money the last couple of years. We’re both licensed, dedicated to the work. I’m a better rigger than you, but we can work on that…”

“Ha! Bullshit!” she threw a balled-up napkin at him. “If you keep lying, I’m going to teach you a lesson, Mr. Jung.”

His eyes darkened. “Question my authority again, Ms. Lee, and I’ll suspend you from the rafters and leave you there while I finish your lo mein.”

Hoseok leaped at her with a snarl and wrapped his arms around her waist, bracing to lift her from her chair.

“Wait, wait,” Yewon pleaded. “We have to break the fortune cookies first.”

“They can wait,” he mumbled lowly into the crook of her neck, his hands hungrily traveling underneath her shirt.

“But it’s our tradition,” she pouted, pushing his hands away. “We always read our fortunes together.”

“Alright,” Hoseok folded with a whine, hastily taking his cookie out of the plastic packaging and breaking it in two.

“Mine says ‘A new business venture is on the horizon,’” Yewon smiled ear to ear. “It’s scary accurate tonight. What does yours say?”

He squinted and tilted his head, “It says ‘We cannot change the direction of the wind, but we can adjust our sails.’ Kind of a weird one, sounds like a hardship’s coming. Maybe it’s not accurate for me tonight.”

“Well, if there  _is_  a hardship coming, we’ll get through it together.”

Hoseok felt her arms drape gingerly around his neck, moving into a warm embrace, and he never felt more secure.

* * *

It felt strange to Hoseok now, carrying on the work on his own in the cramped corners of his tiny apartment. He tried to feel relieved by the fact that wouldn’t be distracted by all the office small talk that pervaded his previous places of employment, but sometimes he sorely missed having someone around to brainstorm and field ideas with. After over a year of working alone, he was at least used to the sound of silence. It was almost comforting.

*RING*

Hoseok motioned toward the sound and checked the caller ID on his phone.  _Mr. Choi_.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Choi!” he greeted.

“G-good afternoon, Mr. Jung,” Mr. Choi began, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it to our session today. I-I em…”

Detecting the hesitancy, Hoseok reassured him. “It’s okay, Mr. Choi, you don’t have to tell me if you’re uncomfort—

“I met someone.”

“Hey! That’s great!” he exclaimed. “So, is this a friend or…” Hoseok hoped to gently nudge the conversation to gain more details.

Mr. Choi cleared his throat, “It’s…more than a friend.”

“Ah, I’m really glad to hear that. Well hey, it’s no problem. Just enjoy this beautiful afternoon and give me a call whenever you’d like to meet again, okay?”

“Thank you. I-I am actually leaving the house today,” Mr. Choi remarked with a touch of hope in his voice.

“No need to thank me. I’m glad you’re getting out there. Take care now.”

The call ended and Hoseok released a long-held sigh. On one hand, he was elated that his client was finally making a solid step towards getting better but, on the other hand, he understood that this would mean one less paycheck. And he needed more of them, more clients, if he was ever going to grow his business—or keep it, for that matter.Maybe if he could figure out a better way to market in this area, he could move into a larger apartment like he had before back when life felt more linear.

 _At least the fridge is full-size_ , he mused with an air of disappointment as his eyes skimmed past the eggs, half-gallon of milk, and box of baking soda to grab the mayonnaise jar from the door of the refrigerator. The lack of appointment with Mr. Choi meant that ___ would be his only client for today. And it meant he would be settling for a tuna sandwich instead of the deli one he had been looking forward to. He had hoped that the session with Mr. Choi would give him the break he needed from thinking about ___ and her file and the further evaluations he knew would eventually be needed to continue treatment, but the hope was pointless now.  _Maybe I could wait on the evaluations until next week_ , he thought. He understood well by now that there was always a possibility she would have a specific need that would have to be addressed today and he should to remain flexible, ready for anything.

The tuna sandwich Hoseok prepared wasn’t particularly appealing, but it would suffice to hold him over until his late-night dinner alone in front of the television. It was a discouraging feeling, tasting the boredom on his tongue, but perhaps it would serve to remind him to buy better condiments next time—that is, if he ever got lucky enough to expand his culinary supplies beyond the essentials. This poor attempt at sustenance was hardly worth sitting down at the table to finish, so he settled for standing in the kitchen, elbows over the sink, with his left cheek full of minced fish, reluctant to swallow it down.

After a few distasteful mouthfuls, he turned around and leaned against the counter with sandwich in hand, mentally reviewing the list of tools and supplies he would need for his session with ___ tonight. The ropes were tightly coiled and ready to pack, the bath bombs tucked away safely in an interior pocket, but the massage oil…he used that earlier in the week on Tuesday for Ms. Nam’s deep tissue massage, and he had used a generous amount. Was there enough to cover tonight’s session?  _I should check that before I go_ , he supposed, taking another bite and wincing at the aftertaste. ___ was always in need of at least a shoulder massage; there was no way she had mastered the art of relaxation in the last week. Setting the remainder of his lunch on the countertop, he directed his attention to the black duffel bag sitting on the floor of his living room. Gripping the handles of the bag tightly, he hoisted it up and placed it gently on the coffee table as to minimize the slight jumble of the bag’s contents shifting around inside. His fingers reached for the outer side pocket where the massage oil was normally kept—only to find it vacant.  _Other pocket_ , he corrected, moving his focus to the opposite side. Pulling back the zipper revealed a soft hand towel, nothing more. Perplexed, Hoseok felt a twinge of annoyance surface in his left temple as he concluded that comprehensive inspection the entire bag would be required. He grumbled, knowing it hadn’t been fully emptied in several months. The process of locating anything as small as a massage oil bottle within the shadows of the bag’s spacious interior would be a grueling and tedious one.

Reaching inside, Hoseok took out the first item to brush his fingers: the pack of bath bombs. Setting them aside with a light clunk, he resumed the task of emptying rest of the contents. Item by item emerged from the bag, the vessel’s polyester material becoming slack as the tools of his trade became scattered along the surface of the coffee table. As he approached the bottom, he wondered if he left the oil at a client’s house by mistake and was wasting his time with this pursuit. Many of the items being retrieved from the bag were rather aged, evident of a lack of regular maintenance. The bottle could be buried anywhere, but he tried to think positively. It quickly became clear that this moment may be one of the few opportunities to clean house, start fresh, even if he failed to find the oil and would have to pull another from his supply closet.

As his fingertips grazed the bottom of the duffel bag, sweeping against its corners, he detected the incisive edges of cardstock. Fishing the item out of the nook it had been stuck in, he reminded himself that he should really store his business cards in a separate pouch—but upon flipping it over he saw it wasn’t his card at all. The cream-colored background had begun to fade from wear, having been buried underneath the supplies, but the inky text etched on the surface was as clear as the day he received the card. Seeing it now, on a Friday of all days, made Hoseok’s breath sputter. He felt a nerve flinch involuntarily in his right eye as a hot, loathsome sensation crept up his throat like unwanted stomach acid. The periphery of his sight became encased in a dark tunnel as the appearance of the card grew distorted in his view. With a throbbing headache and a strained whisper, he cursed the name.

“Rick Bowman.”

* * *

_**A year and a half earlier.** _

“Good morning! Rick Bowman, Bowman Realty Management. Nice to meet you.”

His handshake squeezed a little too firm, a bit too eager, but his smile was every bit as charming as his billboard. After months of hunting for a building to start the business, Hoseok was convinced having good teeth was a prerequisite for real estate licensure.

“Jung Hoseok, thanks for meeting with us,” Hoseok replied, reciprocating the handshake’s degree of firmness.

“Not a problem in the least,” the agent replied before turning his attention. “And you are, Miss?”

“Lee Yewon, nice to meet you,” she answered as her hand slipped delicately into Bowman’s hand, shaking gently.

“A pleasure,” he said, with a tone a bit genteel. “So, this district adjoins the market square and, as you can see, the building is just off the main road here.” He pointed his finger toward the road Hoseok and Yewon took to get there. “The interior is not particularly large, but it’s well within the price range we discussed on the phone, gets a lot of traffic flow, and has the layout you were seeking. It used to be doctor’s office, so I think you both would be able to use the space with little to no need for reconstruction. Shall we take a look inside?”

“Yes, please,” Yewon smiled, eager to enter the building.

The tour was rather short as Hoseok and Yewon quickly realized that the building was “it,” the perfect space to grow their business. It was modest, yet spacious enough to support their plans for combining their services into a one-stop shop for those seeking relief. Incredibly, the man who owned the building had already relocated out of state and was eager to get rid of it as soon as possible, making the subsequent negotiations over price both swift and to their favor. In less than two months of discussion and paperwork, the building was theirs.

The purchase of the building left both Hoseok and Yewon in a pinch financially, but they distracted themselves by filling their new offices with devotion to their practices. Yewon quit her job almost immediately and began working out of the new office as Hoseok phased out his employment at the counseling office and spa over the next couple of weeks, moving a few boxes of books and supplies at a time whenever he could. The transition felt exhilarating to him; after years of toil and hard work, he would finally have his own business, in his own office, with the love of his life. He looked forward to the time when he wouldn’t have to work two jobs and could work in the same space as her, share lunch together, but he knew gradually changing over from his other jobs would be their best financial choice until the new business had retained a large enough clientele to sustain them.  _Once we are back in the black_ , Hoseok repeated in his mind each morning, like mantra,  _I’m going to ask her_.

On the last day of work at the counseling office, he decided to use the last of his leave time to finish his shift a little early. He excitedly packed a final box of professional books and journals, removed his nameplate, and bid farewell to his colleagues who had been both teasing him jealously and wishing him the best. As he left the parking lot, he figured he would take a slight detour to the new office to drop off the books, save himself some money on fuel. Pressing his thumb into the Bluetooth button to make a call, he gave the command, “Call Yewon.”

“Calling Yewon, from Hoseok’s phone,” the car chimed.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Then it switched over to voicemail.  _She must be on her way home already_ , he thought.

“Hi honey, I’m stopping by the office on my way home to drop off the last of the books. I was thinking we should celebrate my last day, maybe go out for Chinese this time instead of bringing it home. I’ll see you soon. Love you,” he closed, pressing the button again.

“Call ended,” the car alerted.

As he approached the building of his new office, he saw that Yewon’s car was still parked there. He presumed she must have stayed to wrap up things or get a head start on next week’s work. Hoseok took the box inside the lobby and immediately noticed the fragrant smell—lo mein. Taking a deep breath to pull in the aroma through his nostrils, he peeked around the reception desk to discover the large order of takeout. Yewon was clever, always thinking ahead, and likely assumed Hoseok would be too tired to take care of dinner on a Friday. Strange how she didn’t seem to wait on him before opening the box and already having some, he deducted, flipping open the box to find the savory contents half-eaten.

Rotating the box slightly, he heard a crunching sound coming from underneath it. He lifted the takeout box to find smashed remnants of a fortune cookie, already opened. The fortune was missing. Puzzled, Hoseok dug through the rest of the box and was unable to find the other cookie. It felt eerie, the stirring that twisted in his gut at failing to locate it; Yewon always checked to make sure the fortune cookies were both present and intact so they could open them together. Something didn’t make sense—

A small sound slipped into the shell his ear, barely detectable, yet it froze him in place, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention.  _Could it be…?_   _No, surely it wasn’t…_

He heard it again, this time growing in volume, more clearly distinct, unmistakable—the sound of her moan. His mind went blank as he heard the thuds of his boots tapping, his body involuntarily carrying itself closer to the source. As he inched nearer to it, he could hear accompanying sounds—rubs, smacks, squelches—all the auditory pieces to suggest a conclusion Hoseok knew he wasn’t ready to face, yet there he was, standing outside of the cracked door of the massage room, hoping with every fiber of his being to be mistaken.

Lying on the massage table was a man—unidentifiable as he was blocked from Hoseok’s line of sight by the sweating and slender back of Yewon, who was clearly enjoying herself as she panted and swayed, rolling her hips at the pace Hoseok recognized as one of her favorites. Words failed to form as his eyes raked over the scene in horror; the presence of column ties binding the man’s limbs to the legs of the massage table confirmed that he was a very willing participant. The sight of the flushed skin around his bound ankles informed that he had been here for some time. This clearly wasn’t their first tryst, as Hoseok heard her unabashed moans continue to resound as she smacked her prey’s heaving chest, summoning growls from within him.

“Are you gonna come on my dick, baby?”

 _Rick Bowman_.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Hoseok expelled a roar from his lungs, veins hot with rage at discovering his replacement was none other than the real estate agent that sold them the building.

The pair jolted in alarm and looked at the door to find their offended observer, crazy-eyed with incredulity and reeling with jealousy inflicted by the pangs of their betrayal.

Yewon’s face fell as she scrambled off the table to cover herself. “—shit, Hoseok...”

“I can’t believe this shit…,” Hoseok muttered lowly, as though he were only addressing himself in that moment. He felt the residual shock of the emotional blow, yet his body found the means to turn on his heel and make for the front door.  _Get out, get out, get out_ was all that he could hear in his ringing ears.

“Wait!”

He flinched, feeling his stomach drop at the emergence of a new emotion—disgust, the sensation barreling toward him as he felt her sweaty, soiled fingers grab at his elbow. It felt like his arm would surely turn to sludge and fall into a pile of slop on the reception floor.

Whirling towards her, he detected fear, vulnerability, adrenaline.  _Good_ , he wickedly concluded, knowing he would have the upper hand in the impending altercation.

Her lip trembled under his reprimanding glare. “Let me expl—

“How long?” Hoseok demanded.

“W-what?”

“How long—and don’t you fucking lie to me.”

The pigment drained from Yewon’s face until it appeared pale and bloodless. “Three months,” she confessed, almost in a squeak.

Hoseok’s cracked a sinister sneer, “Unbelievable, you were fucking this guy before we found this place?! You’re telling me you already knew each other  _before_  we met him?  _How_? Is he a client?”

“No, he’s…we met online.”

Instantly insulted, Hoseok pressed without restraint. “So, I’m not enough for you then? We’ve been together over two years! So what, you thought you’d slip your side fuck a business deal to reward him for being your willing sub?! That was  _our_  money,  _our_  sweat. For god’s sake, Yewon, I bought those fucking ropes keeping him bound to that table!”

“You were never home!” she raised her tone, voice beginning to crack under the accusation.

“Oh, save it. I was working  _two jobs_  while you were here soaking another man’s dick!” Hoseok carded his fingers angrily through his hair, his pupils black as ebony and filled with unadulterated hatred. “I swear to god, Yewon, you had better hope you tied him well to that table.”

“Is that threat necessary?” she scolded.

Seizing the box of lo mein, Hoseok flung it with a growl in response, smashing the contents along the freshly painted wall, next to their framed licenses and college degrees.

“I’m out of here,” Hoseok spat as he snatched his credentials off the wall. “I can’t believe you’re so self-absorbed that you can’t even see that you have effectively destroyed my life. You want to know why I wasn’t home? Fine. Because I was picking up extra shifts to afford this  _goddamned ring_  in my pocket—so I could ask you to make me the  _happiest_  man on earth. Ironic, isn’t it?!”

Yewon’s jaw dropped, “But—

“But what? You think we have a future after this?!” he bored into her with untamed pupils. “You think I can be with you and work here, massaging clients on the table that the love of my life fucked another man on? Are you paying attention? Or are you so fucked out on real estate agent dick that you’ve lost all cognitive capability? It’s over!”

* * *

As Hoseok stared at the Bowman Realty Management business card in his hand, he relived the most catastrophic moment of his life. His breath became unsteady as he remembered storming out the door, framed credentials tucked under his arm—engagement ring burning a hole in his jacket pocket. The timing was, without a doubt in his mind, both incredible and earth-shattering. He remembered lying to the jeweler the next day about how his “sweetheart” wanted to wear a family heirloom instead, because the shame of sharing that his potential fiancée was a cheater was too much to bear. The money he received in return for the ring fueled his alcohol-induced emotional recovery for the next several weeks, as he made arrangements to retrieve his belongings and put them in storage while he nursed his wound heart in an extended stay hotel off the highway.

Looking back, Hoseok knew he would have been able to recover more quickly from the breakup if he hadn’t also quit his jobs and built his entire business structure around Yewon’s participation. Her betrayal left him with almost nothing; he didn’t even have enough money to formulate a proper backup plan, because he was so blindly in love with her he felt he could trust her with everything. In hindsight, that degree of naivety made him feel like the world’s biggest idiot. At his lowest point, he considered trying to get back the deposit money he sunk into the shared building, but after the heated exchanges with Yewon over getting back his own shibari equipment and psychology books, he knew any additional attempt to get money would become a legal battle. Even if he was willing to reopen those wounds in court, which he wasn’t, he couldn’t afford the legal fees necessary to win against her. She made sure of that after lying to half the clients that he was on “extended medical leave” and would no longer be available to accept new business.

The only solution in his mind, after spending night after night with the bottle, was to start over. Relocating to a new place where no one knew his name, his trade, or Yewon seemed like the only way out which would keep him alive although, admittedly, the precarious financial circumstances he found himself in after the affair did force his mind to consider more “final” alternatives, for a time. He considered moving back to be closer to family, but thought of the whispers behind his back because everyone knew how devoted he was to Yewon was too much for him to follow through with it. No, the only viable choice was to move to a major city hours away and start over; new residence, new clientele, new business plan. And after months of peddling Swedish massages and living in that seedy hovel of an extended stay, he finally made enough money to leave.

Hoseok crumpled the business card in his fist as his face grew hot in remembrance. After over a year of living like a nomad, he had given up on feeling anything other than anger and humiliation whenever he was reminded that he almost had everything—and now had the awkward privilege of beholding clients’ confused faces whenever he shared the details of his “traveling office.” He knew it was probably the primary reason his client list was only high enough to scrape by, and the truth was he was only doing that by subsisting on tuna sandwiches and not using the air conditioner.

Failure, due to circumstances outside of his control, in spite of years of hard work and self-sacrifice, was the worst emotion he felt.  _How will I ever be able to rebuild if I can never keep clients_ , he despaired as he stared at his trembling clenched fist _._ He thought of Mr. Choi, who he knew would discontinue services the moment he found a replacement for his late wife—and ___, his only client for the day who he was becoming more irresponsibly attached to with each cinch of the ropes against her warm body.

Hoseok huffed angrily and threw the crumpled ball in the direction of the kitchen, causing it to fall into the garbage disposal.  It was then he could see the missing massage oil bottle by the sink, already refilled and apparently forgotten.  _What a waste_ , he frowned, feeling a headache begin to form in his temples from the stress of his day. He couldn’t cancel; he knew he had a job to do, especially since one session was all he was able to scrape up for a Friday, the day that used to be his busiest before Yewon ripped his heart out. With a flip of the switch, he watched his pathetic garbage disposal emit a high-pitched whine like nails on a chalkboard as it attempted to shred the cardstock.  _What a piece of shit_ , he scowled as the racket filled his ears. Only when he was satisfied with the job did he let his tired eyes drift to the neon dim digits of the microwave—to discover that he only had half an hour until his session with ___.

“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth and he recklessly shoved all the contents and tools back into the duffel bag in no particular arrangement. He slung the heavy bag over his shoulder, stopped to grab two apples from the kitchen, then charged out the door, letting the hard slam of its weight echo in his burning ears.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After experiencing one of the worst days of your life, you face difficult truths about yourself while under Hoseok’s facilitation.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _“Would you like to know what I see?”_
> 
> _His voice was low, barely above a whisper, and you were kidding yourself if you weren’t wildly interested in his perspective on the matter. You slowly nodded your head, bracing your heart to prepare to be validated on every shortcoming you had been marinating over since your teen years._
> 
> _“I see a woman who commits herself in whole. She may be tired, but she is far from empty. Her eyes have seen much and are full of experience, enough to predict danger and alert others. She sees the larger picture, and is willing to sacrifice much for others, often at her own expense.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Hoseok x Reader  
> Genre: Angst, Smut  
> Warning: Therapist!Hoseok, Shibari!Hoseok, therapist/client relationship, sexual themes, BDSM, shibari, dom/sub roleplay, profanity.

Friday is the worst day to have staff meetings. You know and understand this as a manager, but for some reason, the upper managers in your office completely missed the boat on that fact and felt scheduling a quarterly review meeting at 4:30 in the afternoon was more than acceptable. When the invitation popped up in your mailbox just two days ago, you had a gut feeling that a late meeting like that was a sign that the news coming down the pipe would be anything but pleasant. The only comfort you had was knowing that however awful the meeting was going to be, it was Friday. There would be a session with Hoseok to end the day.

You took your seat in the rear corner of the boardroom, tucked away from the main table where the upper managers of your office preferred to sit. From the far corner, you were better positioned to read the faces of your peers and analyze their reactions. Being in the corner also dissuaded some of the other managers from asking about your weekend plans, which had certainly become inappropriate for workplace small talk in the last few weeks.

As you sat as far away from the front of the room as possible, you tried to predict the tone of the meeting by observing the facial expressions of the upper managers as they came in. Most of them looked a bit strained, which indicated to you that they must have already had their own meeting about the news earlier in the week. And if that was the case, then the purpose of this meeting would likely be to inform the first-line supervisors of what was going to happen in the new quarter.

You checked the sterile clock affixed to the wall: 4:25 PM.

The last few minutes passed quickly as the rest of the managers slipped into their seats. It was clear that you weren’t the only first-line supervisor who wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the meeting, as several others were carrying notepads and whispering to each other, trying to glean as much preliminary intel as possible before the main event. You wished information was more widely shared among your peers, but the old order was very much alive and well, and the upper managers were all aging men in their late fifties and sixties. Any suggestions which would encourage more inter-departmental collaboration were often shut down, as those at the top preferred delegating from above rather than soliciting suggestions from those who had to carry out their unreasonable demands.

The worn-out notepad resting on your thighs was a constant reminder that this year had been a costly and stressful one. The corners which had once been crisp and sharp were now discolored and soft from the repetitive rubbing of your aching, anxious thumbs. The pages which had once been white and fresh were now littered with doodles and scribbles of your pen, an activity to keep you awake as your sleep-deprived head received mindless drivel in each and every meeting.

You tried not to reflect on the state of your job and your department because it was always an upsetting venture, but admittedly an unavoidable one as the last of the upper managers loudly chortled and slapped each other on the back, enjoying a shared joke as they entered the boardroom.  _It must be nice to laugh openly while everyone else working for you is anxious as fuck_ , you thought, sharply striking the date and time on the newest page of your notepad. The loudest of them was Norm, the chief executive officer who you considered to be one of the worst decision-makers in the office as he was often distracted and dazzled by cheesy motivational anecdotes rather than the raw data submitted by your reporting department every week.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Norm began with a raspy clearing of his throat as he took his place at the head of the long boardroom table. “Can someone please shut the door? Miss—I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

His old, wrinkling eyes fell on you, followed by the trailing stares of the other managers who followed suit. You sat stunned for a moment, this having been the fourth time he had forgotten your name in manager meetings this year.

Swallowing the hostile feelings of being an overlooked employee who’s been there for years, you answered, “It’s ___, sir,” as you moved to close the door.

“Ah right, ___. From the reporting department. Thank you,” he said, shaking his head as if he would remember it next time. “Now I would like to begin with a few opening remarks.

"As you all know, we finished this quarter in the black, but just barely. I feel, and the shareholders feel, following our annual shareholders’ meeting last month, that we cut it a little too close this time. As a result, I would urge you to take the time to motivate your employees to give us that extra push. We have a big quarter coming up, and it may shed some negative light on the company if too many of its employees are on vacation.”

A hand raised from a middle manager from the accounting department. “Sir, are you saying that leave requests for next quarter should be canceled?”

“Er—no,” Norm corrected as he scratched his head nervously and adjusted his tie. “I’m saying that it may be a good idea to remind your employees of the importance of their hard work here. That will dissuade them from taking their vacations all at once.”

You angrily scribbled  _Norm is anti-vacations next quarter_  in your notepad. It was summertime, so you were definitely of the mind that Norm was off his rocker. You weren’t about to tell your workers they couldn’t take vacations and spend time with their families; if they earned the time, they earned the time. Simple as that. The tip of your pen glided across the page:  _Encourage team to place leave requests well in advance._

“On a related note,” Norm continued, “the shareholders have decided, based on some of our internal reports, that the funds allocated for staffing and operations are not being used as efficiently as they should be. Consequently, it has been decided that the office will undergo a reorganization of its departments.”

Reorganization, historically, always meant that departments would be combined—more workers stuffed under the employ of fewer managers. It was a bum deal, to be sure, because the workers always felt like a number, and the managers were often left with too many employees under their supervision to manage effectively. You already had twenty employees under you. It had been just ten a couple years earlier. As far as you were concerned, you were already managing well over capacity.

The room fell silent upon hearing the news. The upper managers looked strained, but unsurprised, confirming they had already been made aware of this change at an earlier meeting. The first-line supervisors were frantically chatting off-side, asking each other if they had heard any indication of who would be moved and where. Norm tried to get the room back in order, realizing the news was not being received favorably.

“Excuse me, sir?” you called from the back of the room, standing to your feet to better project your voice.

“Yes, Miss ___?” Norm answered.

“You said that the shareholders made the decision based on internal reports. May I ask which reports it was based on?”

Norm looked down at his notes, sliding his glasses further down the bridge of his nose. “The decision was based on the internal production reports since April. The shareholders saw several departments reporting low production and want to merge accordingly.”

_Goddammit, the new reports._

“Sir, I don’t want to go against the shareholders’ wishes,” you eased, “but the internal productions reports transferred to the new web-based system in March. The data from the new system has not been accurately reflecting our production, in my department at least.”

The managers in the room began to look left and right at each other, the buzzing of “did you know” conversations filling the room.

Norm waved his hands as though to calm the scene, then looked at you irritably. “Well, Miss ___, that’s why it’s important to send reports flagging these issues.”

"I did sir, back in March after we used it for only two weeks,” you firmly responded. “I even made my employees report in the old and new system for the next two months for confirmation and the production report results are vastly different. Any staffing changes based on the new data will strip critical departments of the resources and bodies they need.”

The room quieted again, to the point where one could hear a pin drop. Norm’s face grew agitated at the new information you presented.

“Hm, I see,” he said, tapping his pen sharply. “And when you sent the reports, what did your upper managers say?”

You gulped deep in your throat and looked over at your upper managers, whose faces were expressionless and staring at the over-polished surface of the boardroom table.  _Fucking cowards._

“Sir, I was given no response. I don’t even have read receipts from my original emails, which were sent to them months ago. I don’t think any of the upper managers in this room read my report—and I’m the head of production reporting.”

The upper managers looked beyond pissed that you publicly called them out in front of everyone, but after months of being ignored, you didn’t care. You took your seat and stared toward the front of the room, waiting on Norm to make up some excuse for the upper managers’ cosmic failure to lead. At least you could go to sleep at night knowing you said your peace on the matter.

But much to your surprise, Norm switched tactics and ignored your concern outright, proceeding to the next topic.

“I’m sure we can discuss those reports more offline after the meeting is over. For now, I would like to share some of the other staffing changes that are going to be taking place.”

 _Un-fucking-believable_ , you angrily thought as you struck a drawing of a daisy in flames on the corner of your notepad.

Norm continued to follow his notes, refusing to make eye contact with the increasingly anxious stares from the other managers.

“The vote came down from the shareholders and the agreement has already been signed by me and the chief operating officer last week, so this is how we’re moving forward. First, the accounting department will be reduced in staffing by thirty percent.”

You turned your head toward the accounting manager, who began erratically scribbling notes of his own with a worried expression as if his life depended on it.

“Secondly,” Norm pressed on, “the reporting and quality assurance departments will be merged to form a new department under new leadership.”

“WHAT?!” you and the head of quality assurance shouted in unison as you both launched from your seats in alarm.

“Sit down, both of you,” Norm rebuked angrily with a flushed face, running his oversized finger across his notes, continuing his spiel as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “This new department will be called the analysis review department and will be responsible for running and analyzing data reports to ensure that the employees from all our departments are operating in accordance with the production standards set by the marketing department and front office.”

 _They want our reports to micromanage our employees even further?!_  You felt your cheeks burn in anger as your tremoring hands clasped your notebook.

“Sir, who is going to run the new department? ___ and I are already managing these departments independently without incidence,” the head of quality assurance asked cautiously.

“Great question,” Norm answered, appearing more relaxed. “The day-to-day operations and personnel responsibilities will be maintained by the current managers in place, however the direction and focus of the new department will be decided by the new head appointed by the shareholders: Don Bakersfield.”

Eyes darted around the room as the participants of the meeting struggled to remember who Don Bakersfield was. The confused faces made it clear he was not an employee appointed from within the office. As the room resumed idle chatter in an effort to identify the mysterious new manager, a newcomer entered the boardroom.

“May I intrude?” the newcomer inquired while both knocking on the door and opening it at the same time. He clearly meant to join the meeting regardless of the answer.

“Ah, Don, right on time,” Norm acknowledged with a wave, ushering the newcomer inside. “I just let the others know that you’ll be joining our team.”

“Great, great,” Don smiled with an outstretched hand.

As their palms met in a handshake, it dawned on you: you had seen Don before. You had noticed him around the office in the last few weeks, laughing and carrying on with Norm. They looked like two peas in a pod, and at the time you had assumed he was just a good friend or a long-term client or contractor of some kind. Now you understood that all those interactions you had seen were part of Norm’s larger plan—to install a gopher who would be loyal to him. In a department like the newly created analysis review one, Norm and Don would be able to control the flow of data and reporting to the rest of the office.

“Would you mind saying a few words to our managers?” Norm asked Don, already aware of the answer.

“Sure thing,” Don answered with a pat on Norm’s back.

You chewed on the end of your pen before flipping over to a new page and writing:  _Don Bakersfield, new manager of merged dept., forced modesty._

“Good afternoon everyone,” Don began, adjusting his tie as he addressed the room. “I haven’t had the chance to meet all of you one-on-one, but I am greatly looking forward to helping our office undergo this transition. The new reports have provided us a unique opportunity to self-examine, make improvements…”

His voice faded into the background as the harsh ringing in your ears grew louder and louder, like an alarm clock waking you to the newfound work hell that would become your future. Your pen idly traced along the page’s border as your chest ached, your heart collapsed by the betrayal of knowing your office would reorganize based on data pulled from faulty reports—and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The palpitations felt in your heart let you know that you needed to focus on something else, something pleasant, before the stress of the meeting pushed you over into a potentially damaging, very public anxiety attack. Turning to a new page, you began to scribble words you knew would take your focus away from the meeting:

_Lavender._

_Massage oil._

_Jute rope._

_Blindfold._

_Coffee._

_Hoseok._

Admittedly, it wasn’t your recommended list of cheerful words, but it was distracting enough to pull you back from the ledge as your mind wandered back to the events of last Friday where your tantric therapist used his words and entangling fingers in your hair to make you come. Your eyes zoned out as the ink from your pen wrapped vines around the words on your page.  _If only I was out of here_ , you wished,  _I could hear his voice again…_

“And with that said,” Don’s over-zealous voice drew you back into the meeting, “I look forward to working with you all in what I’m sure will be a very productive quarter. Thank you.”

The light smattering of golf claps in the room suggested to you that the majority of the managers were not enthused by his presence here, but still wanted to cover their asses. You folded over your notepad and prepared to leave when Norm interrupted.

“Miss ___, if you could stay behind for a few moments.”

 _Fuck_. You checked your watch: 5:58 PM. Your session with Hoseok was in an hour. Hopefully, Norm was going to ask for a copy of your last internal report and then you would be able to make it home on time.

As the last of the managers filed out of the boardroom, you approached Norm and Don, taking a seat near the front of the table. “How may I help?”

“___, we just want to touch base and make sure that we have you and your team’s full support as we move into the next quarter,” Norm opened. “I couldn’t help but notice that after you mentioned the reports, you checked out. I want to make sure that Don here will have your complete cooperation. Do I make myself clear?”

You felt the challenging undertones of his voice, but you resolved to defend yourself by any means necessary.

“Sir, I wasn’t checking out. I was trying to formulate a plan to tell my department to double our efforts to correct the reports,” you lied. Your CEO could never discover your anxiety, as union protections didn’t extend to you as a manager; any shortcomings could be twisted into a means to fire you. Plus, it wasn’t as if it was a complete lie, as you were surely going to try to get the reports corrected as soon as possible.

“I think what Norm is trying to say is that we have some concerns that some of your employees may become pioneers and create new reports contrary to the ones the shareholders have,” Don clarified. “We want to be sure you’re not going to instruct them to go against the data in the reports the shareholders are using, as the reorganization is going to be structured around that. We should all be moving in the same direction, with the same information as our guide.”

A fire ignited in the pit of your belly. “But those reports are incorrect. Shouldn’t reorganization decisions be based on good d—

"The shareholders have already made their decision. It’s a done deal,” Norm interrupted, increasingly annoyed by the conversation.

“Right,” Don agreed. “It’s too late to make changes now. Any presentation of new data at this juncture would make it seem like we don’t have our house in order. And we just can’t have that, ___.”

“But…,” you hesitated, “it will be so much worse with the wrong data. If you could give me time to fix the reporting—two weeks should be suffic—

"I don’t think you understand,” Norm interrupted a second time. “We are expecting a united front from—

"Are you going to let me finish?”

The blunt words tumbled from your mouth before you could stop them. You knew it was a mistake to be that direct with the CEO, especially with your new manager sitting across the table from you getting a front row seat at the spectacle, but there was nothing you could do about it now. You scrambled to redirect.

“I mean…I’m in charge of reports, sir. Shouldn’t my view and interpretation of the data have some weight here?”

Norm’s face grew hot. “Frankly, it doesn’t. It’s not your job to interpret data and be the catalyst for change in your office. This isn’t some young startup with beanbag chairs, where one’s feelings drive the company. This is a business, and I’m in charge.”

Your fist clenched under the boardroom table as you felt the generational jab in the comment he just made. He continued, rising out of his seat.

“Your job is to keep your employees in check and make sure they are still working and not wasting the shareholders’ time and money. But now I have concerns as to whether you are in the right position in the first place. Is management not a role you are capable of fulfilling? Is this job too demanding for you?”

“Absolutely not,” you retorted, raising your voice this time. “I have been nothing but loyal to this company for years, but I cannot sit idly by and watch the office get sabotaged because of botched data from my own department that my managers won’t let me fix. That new system is broken, Norm; we shouldn’t be using it at all.”

“There’s no certifiable proof that data is incorrect, ___,” Norm shot back.

“Yes sir, there is! It’s in all my reports I sent up the chain since the system update. At least read them first, please, before it’s too late,” you pleaded, growing desperate in the suspicion that their minds were already made up.

“Don’t be so dramatic, ___,” Don chimed in. “Whatever reports you sent are obsolete now. You should be focused on looking ahead.”

“Sir, are you implying that I’m unfit, that I’m…too  _emotional_  to do my job?” you rebuffed angrily. “I think that’s rich coming from someone who just took over my department fifteen minutes ago. You haven’t even seen my personnel file or talked to my employees. You have no idea what kind of disaster is coming for you with those reports—for both of you. Those plans of yours are unsustainable, and I will not be complicit in screwing over so many hardworking people here.”

“Are you saying that you won’t be cooperating? That sounds like insubordination to me,” Norm sneered, cornering you in the conversation. “Doesn’t it sound like the rantings of a rogue employee, Don?”

There. The magic word: insubordination. The word that everyone knew meant you were on your way to being written up or worse. Don cocked his head to the side with feigned disappointment. “It does sound problematic. It’s a shame too; I heard good things about your management style on the floor.”

“Wait—are you firing me?” you stared incredulously. “You’re going to get rid of me because I want correct data? Shouldn’t that be the  _goal_  of my department?!”

“We aren’t saying that, ___, but you don’t seem to be giving us much of a choice on the matter,” Norm said as he returned to his seat and tapped his pen with a furrowed brow. “The decision to move forward was made several levels above you, yet you’re insistent on going against the current.”

“I’m trying to prevent a huge mistake!”

“Again, with the dramatics,” Don waved his hand dismissively. “You should really take a breather and accept that this is how things are going to be.”

“Oh, save it, Don,” you spat. “You’re about to help Norm here fire employees you  _need_  to keep this ship afloat. You don’t even know their names.”

“That’s enough,” Norm interjected. “It’s clear we’re at an impasse. You can finish out the pay period, but I don’t want to see or hear lip from you again. Next pay period you’ll be transferred to another department where you’ll be less trouble.”

 _This had been their plan all along_ , you convinced yourself as you felt your eye twitch. They meant to get rid of you without causing a huge commotion in the office, and an interdepartmental transfer would be the perfect cover-up. It was a way to effectively neutralize you while minimizing potential backlash on the morale front. They never meant to keep you around for reporting at all. Your hands felt clammy and cold as the blood rushed to your heart, the whirlwind of emotions from earlier in the meeting returning in full force.

“Don’t bother doing me any favors,” you said with a shaky voice as you rose from your seat. “You think you can buy my cooperation by letting me keep a job, yet you’re going to silence me because I presented facts you refuse to read. If this is how you mean to lead and motivate employees in your new venture, I want no part of it.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Norm pressed.

“What I’m saying, Norm, is that you will have my resignation on your desk this afternoon—and you can shove it up your ass.”

You exited the boardroom without another word. Norm and Don’s expressions were a blend of surprise and victory, but you couldn’t focus on that. You felt the tremor of rage in your hands, as you knew your desk wouldn’t pack itself—and you were going to be late.

* * *

Hoseok pulled his car into ___’s driveway to find it vacant. It was an unexpected discovery, as he knew she usually got off work at 5:00 PM and should have been home by now. He checked his watch and grumbled: 6:54 PM.  _She should be here_ , he thought, recollecting previous conversations about the importance of Master’s time. She wouldn’t dare schedule something else at the same time given how clear his instructions had been delivered, but he knew there was a chance that something was keeping her at work. And by something, he knew it would likely be some wasted, self-sacrificing effort she made for someone who would never appreciate her hard work.  _She gives too much of herself to that job_ , he huffed.

His mind was buzzing with the day’s frustrations, having been unable to fully bounce back from the anger of misplacing the massage oil and finding Rick Bowman’s business card at the bottom of his duffel bag. He felt he was losing control mentally and that the day had pretty much turned to shit already. ___’s tardiness was just another tick on the ever-growing list of things that had not gone his way today.  _I shouldn’t even be here_ , he lamented, slumping over the steering wheel, closing his eyes as he recalled the shameful battering on his dick to thoughts of his client earlier that morning.

7:00 PM came and went, and ___ was still nowhere to be found. Hoseok grumbled as he fished his phone from his pocket and angrily texted.

> **[7:05] Hoseok:**  We had an appointment. I certainly hope you aren’t still where I think you are.

As his thumb pressed the screen to deliver the message, he considered that it may have been too harsh of a message to send. After all, something could have happened to her on the way home. He squeezed his eyes in self-loathing for being an ass before the session even began, and hoped that she read the message as playful Master banter. As he typed a politer follow-up message, his phone beeped in response.

> **[7:11] ___:**  Omw, traffic. Had a shit day

“You and me both,” he muttered under his breath, tucking his phone into the side-pocket of his bag. At least she was alive, but he was frustrated at the knowledge that his time wasn’t as valuable as whatever she had been doing. She wasn’t the only one with a job, but he knew that his trade—like so many other service-oriented ones with a client base—would always play second fiddle to more traditional office space occupations. And he couldn’t help but feel the stinging reminder that he wouldn’t be so dependent on clients keeping their appointments in the first place if he had more of them to fill his workweek. He was dwindling to very few now, glaringly aware that the primary reason for his misfortune was the fact his ex-girlfriend and former business partner had stolen many of them.

 _Maybe I should move again, start over in a larger city_ , he thought. But he knew he wouldn’t do that; he was more than cognizant of his unhealthy attachment to ___, yet he wouldn’t leave her. And if her text was any indication of her workday, he knew that she would be in sore need of continued sessions on a weekly basis. He also considered that she always paid on time and in full. She was reliable, financially speaking.

“Ach,” Hoseok groaned, hating himself for calculating ___’s worth in dollars and cents. She was worth more than that to him, and he damn well knew that if the day ever came where she couldn’t pay, he would probably continue sessions for free until she could.  _Not that she’ll ever leave that fucking awful job of hers_ , he thought, rolling down his car window and turning off the engine.

Hoseok leaned his head back to rest against the seat. He wanted desperately to clear his head, still scattered from the day’s reflections, but it was a futile effort. As he heaved another sigh and moved to check the time again, he heard the sound of a speeding car zooming down the street like it was stolen.

* * *

You whipped your car into the driveway with the ferocity of an irresponsible teenager, blasting angry music from your youth, but you couldn’t give a shit about looking like a holy terror in the neighborhood. Your career was over, after several years of service, and your fingers were still feeling the residual soreness from your tendered resignation being blasted away on the keys. As you kicked open your door and exited your car, you avoided the sight of Hoseok stepping out of his.  _He’s probably reading how fucking pissed I am_ , you thought angrily as you flung open your passenger side car door to grab your box of personal belongings.  _Years of killing myself, and all I have is this fucking box_ , you grimaced as you slammed your car door shut with a violent shove from your hip and stormed toward your porch.

The adrenaline flowed erratically through your veins as your jittery hands tried to retrieve your keys. You heard the light thuds of his boots behind you, feeling him wait for you to acknowledge him. But you wanted none of that, this being the worst day of your life. You should have just canceled the session today, but it was too late for that now. This was probably going to be a waste of both of your evenings. Hoseok was skilled, to be sure, but you had doubts that he would be able to break through the haze of unadulterated rage filling the space between your ears.

“Let me get that for you,” he offered, motioning to take the box from you. Your body reacted with a jolt, tensing possessively around the box, refusing to let it go.

“I got it,” you snapped with a sharp tone, turning the doorknob open. Hoseok made no response until you were both indoors, but as soon as the door closed, he confronted you.

“You want to tell me what’s going on? I was just trying to help you.” His bag hit the kitchen table with an unapologetic thud.

You slammed your box down next to it with equal force.

“What do you think happened?!”

“I  _think_  that temper of yours got you in trouble at work. These are your things, yes?” he asked as he picked up your nameplate from inside the box. “Did you get fired or quit?”

“I quit,” you spat.

“Then  _why_  are you mad? You should be ecstatic instead of being so  _dramatic_ ,” he scolded.  _That word again, the same word Don had used earlier in the day._  Your stomach boiled in animosity.

“Look, I didn’t want to quit, okay? This wasn’t how I thought my day was going to go. I got forced into it, and I’m pissed at those assholes. I have to start over now, knowing that I’m pretty much fucked for a recommendation. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

Hoseok flinched, recalling earlier events of the day, “I do, more than you know. But you need to control it instead of taking it out on innocent bystanders who were here on time for your appointment.”

You felt the jab at your being late and lashed out, “I don’t want to control it!”

“You have to,” he replied in a firm tone.

“No—I don’t. Look, I’m a bitch today, probably not in the best frame of mind right now given that my life is basically over.”

“Your life isn’t over; you just built too much of your life around work and feel lost and angry now that you don’t have it.”

"I don’t need a lecture from you,” you shot back. “You could have just driven off the moment I was late to teach me a lesson or some shit. You didn’t have to wait all this time just to remind me of my failures.”

“We had an appointment and I honored it, unlike some,” Hoseok responded. “I don’t know why you’re pissed at me. I haven’t done anything to you. Where is this coming from?”

“Ugh, I don’t know, okay?!” you whined in frustration. “Look, I didn’t want to be late, but it happened and I’m sorry. I’m clearly too much for you to deal with today, so why don’t you just leave? I’ll pay for your trouble and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Hoseok paused as he gave your offer serious consideration. You knew a sane person would just take your money and leave, but there was a shift in his eyes that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His palm rubbed against the side of his face and he began to chuckle in a dark, menacing manner.

“Do you really think  _you_  are too much for  _me_  to handle?” he sneered. “I’ve been gentle with you, ___, but you are testing my patience today.”

You recognized his transition to the Master persona and felt your blood run cold—then very, very hot.  _He must be bluffing._

“What are you gonna do, punish me until our time is up? What could you possibly do in such a short span of time,” you said, curious to see how much further you could provoke him.

“What I’m gonna do,” he began, digging into his bag to grab several bundles of rope, plopping them decidedly on the kitchen table, “is stay as long as it takes to make you submit to me, like you should have at the start of our appointment. That was my time, ___. Do you need to be reminded?”

Waning under his stern tone, you broke your resolve and confessed, “I just want to forget this day ever happened…”

Hoseok smiled at how weak and frail your voice sounded, then replied, “Oh, you’ll be lucky to remember your name when I’m done with you. All you have to do is say the word for your Master—because you may need it tonight.”

Your eyes watched as his hands rubbed aggressively over his forearms and wrists, waiting for the answer he already knew was bubbling to the surface, just waiting to spill onto your tongue. And you knew the word quite well.

“Coffee.”

“Strip.”

“Wait—here? In my living room?” you asked, startled by the request.

“Are you going to follow my instructions, or do you need assistance?” he replied with an icy tone as he unraveled the spools of crimson rope, walking toward your body threateningly.

A sinful part of you wanted to take him up on his offer and make him strip you of your clothes, but you were nervous wondering what else would happen should his feet arrive at the spot on the floor where you were standing. You didn’t want to provoke him further, and the thought of obeying his every word was beyond enticing to you, no matter how sharply his command was delivered.

His feet slowed as his eyes bored expectantly into your body, waiting on you to carry out the order you had been given. He had never been so forceful before, but admittedly this was not going to be a normal session. You knew it quite well already, with him being clearly upset at your defiance and you feeling reckless and in need of distraction. The socks were easy to dispose of, but your hands trembled as the rush of knowing what was next to come off coursed through your veins. They moved to unbutton your office slacks, which slid down your legs. As you stepped gingerly out of the pants pooled at your feet, he interrupted.

“Faster.”

The bite in his voice and blackness in his beady, demanding eyes summoned an involuntary squeezing sensation in your core. Your chest ached as your brain became lost in the erratic emotions you felt as you grabbed the bottom edge of your blouse and lifted it overhead, letting the loose fabric fall to the floor. The pinching forefinger and thumb of your right hand made quick work of the clasp on your bra.

“Satisfied?” you asked in a clipped tone, your breasts exposed for his inspection.

“You will address me properly or you will be punished.”

The light, whistling sound of the thirty-foot rope passing decidedly through his hands informed you he was serious.

“Yes, Master,” you huffed in defiance, testing his limits.

He doubled over the rope to form a loop, making a tsk sound as his hands wrapped the red cords around the underside of your breasts. Moving to stand behind you, he threaded the ends through the loop, saying, “Your tone is going to get you in trouble. I suspect that’s what happened this afternoon.”

The scoffing sound you made at his words was cut off by the sharp cinch of the rope, creating tension against the smooth expanse of your bare back. You swallowed as you felt the jute lightly scratch against the skin of your right shoulder. His boots skidded across the floor as he moved in front of you, his face frowning as he passed the ropes between your breasts and looped them over and under to hold them in place, forming a shoulder strap.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” he pressed, looking you in the eye as the ropes passed back up through the center of your chest and over your left shoulder.

Returning behind you, he looped the ends through the middle of your back. Without the presence of his intimidating gaze challenging your every move, you answered.

“I did what I had to do.”

A sinister chuckle hit your ears, making goosebumps rise along your skin. The ropes moved quickly back to the front of your chest as he held them with tension in his able hand.

“You let them get to you,” he said plainly, looping the ends through the straps near your right shoulder. As he pulled the ropes, you felt them squeeze against the soft flesh of your upper chest. Your breathing became labored as you deduced this tie would be less about utility and more about decoration.

“I did not. I chose to leave so I wouldn’t be their scapegoat. They were going to send me to another department, probably after they reorganize the departments and lay off half the workers.”

He tugged the rope and returned the ends of the cords back through the knots at your back. Then he moved toward the left side of your body, crossing back in front of you.

“So, you ran,” he concluded, looping the ropes under and over the straps near your left shoulder and pulling, creating tension against your left breast. “I thought you were a better strategist with your career.”

As you felt the ropes wrap behind you to complete the knot of the chest harness, you grimaced at the insult.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You could feel him smiling, enjoying how he was riling you up so soon.

“What I mean is that by you walking out today, you left yourself vulnerable. You don’t have another job lined up, and I thought someone as smart as you would have had a backup plan. You had the tools necessary to get another job and make a calculated withdrawal, but instead you let your temper run your life today. And you surprised me by that. Frankly, I’m disappointed. I have been pushing your limits for weeks in the hopes of teaching you to manage your emotions. You would submit to me so you wouldn’t submit to them anymore, but I guess feeling out of control serves you best.”

“Excuse me?!” you shouted, feeling the outrage warm your hands as you balled them into fists and violently turned to face him. As your body shifted into the turn too quickly, he detected your play and gripped the back of the harness, shaking it harshly to keep you from regaining any control of your movements.

“What do you think you’re going to do, fight me? You walked out of the real fight when you walked out this afternoon, ___. You’re helpless now, see?” he sneered, shaking your flailing form from side to side.

“Stop that!” you shot back, only making him laugh again.

“You know the word to say and it will all be over…but something tells me you’re not going to use it because  _you like being my plaything_.”

“I hate you!”

“You probably wish you did, ___,” he cooed.

With that final word, you shrieked and tried to wrest control from him harder. He responded by grabbing your elbow and twisting your arm around your back, removing your last means to fight back with your upper body. Gripping you by the back of a neck like a cat disciplining a misbehaving kitten, he controlled your movements and walked your body forward in the direction of the ottoman at the center of the living room. As his fingertips dug into your neck, you felt that all-consuming flame of arousal be rekindled in your body, and it infuriated you. He was insulting you, but in some fucked up way you were relishing in it. He was right; you were never going to use your safeword because deep down, you knew you wanted to stay under his steady hand. The ache between your legs was a testament to his control over you. And you wanted him.

The sight of the large round ottoman brought back memories of the earlier session where you selected your safeword. He had been gentle and tantalizing then, tenderly checking in at different intervals to ensure you felt comfortable, only pushing your limits with a gentle nudge. But now, just a couple weeks later, he was operating with the confidence of a master who had solved every riddle and knew your every response. And that was how he knew he could rudely bend you over the ottoman and hoist your legs in the air until your whole body was laying flush on top of it; he could handle you like a sack of potatoes. As he moved you into position, he scooted your body forward with a firm push, forcing your hardening nipples to graze harshly against its fabric. A small whimper escaped as you pressed your thighs together.

“What are you doing?” you prodded, unable to fully determine what he was up to as you were laying face-down.

“You’re too feisty for a standard tying session tonight,” he replied, “so you’re going to be hogtied until you come to your senses.”

“Seriously?!” you said, severely annoyed at the realization you wouldn’t be able to move a single limb without his say-so.

“Oh, you’ll like it. You could actually enjoy life for a change if you weren’t so stubborn and obeyed your master more often. He wants what’s best for you,” Hoseok scolded, wrapping both your wrists behind your back. “Now, I’m going to bind your wrists and ankles and then we’re going to talk about what happened at work today. Bind the body, free the mind, as they say.”

“But I don’t want to talk about it,” you protested as you heard him clear his throat and pull a fresh ten-foot rope through his hands.

“Then why am I here?” he asked as he began to loop the rope around your wrists, tying them together.

 _Because I want you to touch me_ , you thought, conscious of how warm his hands felt pressed against your forearms. You felt the quick cinch and knotting as he bound your wrists to the chest harness, locking in your upper body’s position.

“Because…I need to reconnect with myself,” you admitted, recalling answers you had given in previous sessions.

“Exactly, and your emotions are getting in the way of that,” he said sternly, digging his fingers underneath the ropes to check for tightness.

“Why are you scolding me so much today?”

Hoseok paused before giving his answer.

“Because no one else is here to tell you the truth that you are still in your own way, and I’m your therapist until you say the word.”

He cleared his throat again before pulling a new ten-foot rope and stepping toward your feet. His fingertips brushed your calves to greet them, and you rotated your feet to prepare your ankles for their bindings. The brush of the rope against them was slow and tender. Even though his words had been cutting since the session started, he was gentle when it mattered most, tying your ankles together in a two-column with a little more slackness.

“How do your ankles feel?” he asked.

“Snug, kinda sweaty,” you answered over your shoulder.

“Wiggle your toes for me,” he muttered, tapping your foot expectantly.

You tried to fan them out and clench them back together. It was trickier than normal, but admittedly your legs were usually free when you moved your toes.

“Are you pleased?” you smirked, wiggling your feet, feeling proud of yourself.

*SMACK*

The hot surface of his hand fell flat on the bottoms of your feet, making you yip and recoil from him. The force of the blow made your feet feel prickly and ticklish, but you couldn’t extend a limb to scratch them. Hoseok stroked the surface of them to relax the startled nerve endings.

“What was that for?!”

“I wanted to see how you would react. And you are growing more reactive and tense,” he observed.

“Uh, yeah—you hit me!”

“You’re also combative, argumentative. You plan on fighting me all evening when you’re actually mad at something else, which I’m going to figure out very soon. The thing you need to do is start relaxing, control your breathing.”

You could already feel the sweat forming in your upper body where the limbs were tied, but you heaved a sigh and rested your forehead against the ottoman, letting your legs release the tension. It was clear in your mind now that he was planning on having complete control over every aspect of your evening until you obeyed.

“Good,” he praised as he continued his work, fetching the last bundle of rope and unraveling it. “I’m on the last tie which is going to bind your ankles to the chest harness. This is going to make your upper and lower body lift from the ottoman. You’ll bend like the bottom of a boat.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as you can handle safely. Your body is already warming up so I have an idea of how long you’ll be tied this way, but just know that I can free you quickly if you say the word. Do you understand?”

You nodded your head into the ottoman, but you heard him tsk in disappointment.

“I need to hear it, ___.”

You sniffled as you felt the blush of submission settle into your cheeks.

“Yes, Master.”

He hummed with acceptance as he folded over the jute cord, doubling its thickness, and threaded it through the binding around your ankles and tied a double knot with a small loop. He tugged on the small loop to coax your legs to bend back until your calves touched the back of your thighs. When he was satisfied with the position of your lower body, he passed the remaining rope underneath your chest harness, threading the end back through the small loop at your ankles. As he pulled the rope slowly, you felt your chest lift gradually from the fabric surface of the ottoman. His hand slid gingerly over your lower back and rested there.

“How are we doing? Is this too much of a bend for you?”

“It’s good,” you panted, the realization that you were being hogtied finally settling in your mind. “I wouldn’t go tighter though. I’m feeling…um—

"Yes?”

“Never mind,” you retracted, embarrassed by how quickly your arousal was mounting.

“You can retreat for now, but I’ll know your feelings soon enough,” he said with what you were certain was a smile meant to tease. He tied off the rope with a large slip knot, letting the loose ends of the rope dangle against your thigh.

Hoseok stepped to the side to return to your upper body, slipping the tips of his fingers under the straps of your chest harness to inspect the tension of the final tie. Then he walked to the kitchen and grabbed a chair, relocating it to face the ottoman. He knelt in front of you and pressed his hands against the sides of your face, examining your expression closely. The deep, dark pools in his eyes were searching for something.

“I want you to tell me what happened today.”

You replied in a small voice, shaking your head, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?” he pressed.

“Because…I already quit,” you grumbled. “It’s over. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he countered, rising to his feet. “We have lots to discuss, starting with why a woman who told me work was her master would jump ship all of a sudden. I assume they didn’t want you to leave, right? So why would you leave when you were unhealthily devoted before?”

You looked away from his gaze, hanging your head low, refusing to answer. Your insides filled with venom as you recollected the earlier events of the day, and your ears perked at the sound of him sitting in the kitchen chair across from you.

Crossing his legs and leaning back into the chair, he began his inquiries. “Was it that reporting program you mentioned last—

"Yes, okay,” you growled in annoyance, shifting against the ropes and glaring at him for making you revisit the subject. “The reporting program ruined everything like I thought it would!”

“How?”

“It did exactly what I said it was doing: botching the numbers. I just didn’t realize the wrong reports were going to the shareholders, who voted to reorganize the office and fire people who needed their jobs to live.”

Your voice cracked as your mind floated to the employees on your team who would arrive to work Monday morning to find your farewell email sitting in their inboxes. Knowing the misfortune heading in their direction made you strain against the ropes, feeling the cords scratch against your skin.

“Are your former employees going to lose their jobs?”

“Probably, some of them,” you panted, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. “I couldn’t help them. I tried, but no one listened to me.”

“So, you left your flock.”

“Yes,” you groaned, angry at his use of metaphors.

“And how did that make you feel?” he asked, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward.

“Pissed. I hate them so much—my managers,” you answered. “They talked to me like I was a child.”

Your eyes closed in frustration and craned your neck from side to side. It felt as though you were beginning to dangle off the edge, and it was clear that subspace was imminent, and you just wanted to let go of everything.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore…,” you grumbled, blinking slowly. “It hurts too much.”

“What hurts? The ropes?”

“The ropes are fine, I’m just…exhausted and…,” you paused, “you’re making me upset.”

Hoseok stood and walked to the kitchen to retrieve something from his bag. You were unable to see what he fetched until he returned before you with two Fuji apples in his hands. You heard the crisp splitting of the apple’s flesh as he took a bite from one, and chewed for a moment, looking as though he were planning his next move.

“You were upset when you got here. I didn’t make you that way. I’ve only tried to help you but you’re ornery as hell. That’s why you’re in this position. That’s why you got into what I’m assuming was some kind of argument at work. You aren’t playing your cards well, and you have all the cards, ___. So we are going to have a change of plans, and you’re going to lay there, hogtied, until you are in a meditative state that allows you to reflect on how you got here.” He took another bite, smiling wickedly as he watched your face twist in enmity again.

“Maybe they were just assholes! You make it sound like everything is my fault.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt they were assholes, but you have to learn how to navigate those shark-filled waters without sacrificing your health or your emotional state. And I think you’re not telling me everything, and this is a critical moment in your treatment. I’m in charge of you right now, and you’re going to lay there and meditate in silence. That’s a good tie for meditation because you have nowhere to run. Let it do its job.”

“But what if I—

"I want you to stop talking,” he interrupted, taking another bite.

“Isn’t the point to express myself?” you countered, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ve expressed only anger, when the expression you should strive toward is resolution. Your stubbornness already got you in trouble, so you will either meditate quietly or there will be consequences. I’m not going to let your emotions run free on their own; it’s asking for an anxiety attack which can be precarious in the literal position you’re in.”

You huffed at his scolding, “Look, I don’t kno—

Your rebuttal was cut off by his action of kneeling in front of you and squeezing your cheeks, halting your speech.

"I need you to understand something: you’re in the rabbit hole, like Alice. You have spoken, but you’re so angry. I’m telling you that talking isn’t going to help you right now. Your eyes are wild with rage, and I need you to relax so you’re in a state where something productive can actually come from this session. If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re being a brat on purpose, just to receive the punishment. You think you deserve punishment, but I’m not so sure this time because I am only reading one side of you. Do you understand? Nod if you understand.”

Your skull rocked against his grip as you felt a trickle of drool spill out of the side of your mouth and onto his thumb. The pupils of your eyes widened at the thought he would be offended by the involuntary response, but upon examining his expression more closely, you found his eyes were darkening considerably.

“Now,” Hoseok continued, “you’re going to open that mouth and bite into this apple. You need something sweet to get that bitter taste out of your mouth, and this will keep you from digging a bigger hole than you’re already in.”

“Wha—"

"Open.”

The forcefulness of his words summoned a pulsating throb between your legs. You hated how your body betrayed you in these moments, as you knew deep down you were enjoying pissing him off. You licked the corners your mouth, careful to not graze his fingers which were temptingly close, and loosened your jaw, stretching your mouth widely open.

“Good girl,” he praised in a low tone, placing the apple in your mouth. The smirk on his face let you know he was enjoying this, seeing you tied up like a pork roast with the garnish of his choice. Your teeth sunk into the flesh of the apple as your tongue was greeted with the sweetness of its flavorful juices.

Hoseok stared into your eyes for a moment, reading your degree of compliance, then grazed his thumb along the side of your lips where the drool had pooled earlier, collecting it onto his digit and bringing it to his mouth. Your eyes looked on in shock as his tongue poked against the finger’s surface before his lips enveloped the tip, absorbing the taste of your saliva. The ache in your core intensified tenfold as his eyes closed, communicating possession. His thumb pulled from his mouth with a small pop before he asked, “Where’s the light switch for this room?”

You looked up at him incredulously, having just been placed in a position where telling him was impossible. Struggling to direct him, you pointed with your nose to the wall behind where he was standing, near the hallway—then made a small whimpering sound to alert him you were showing its proper location.

“Thank you, pet,” he grinned with amusement, stepping backward to flip off the switch.

Darkness fell over the room, and you suddenly registered how quiet it was. The only sensations you detected was the tension of the rope against your body, the faint sound of his boot thuds against the wooden floor, and the sweet flavor of the apple trapped in your teeth. It was hard to make out where he was, as the blackness surrounding you made it difficult, but when he spoke again his voice cut through the shroud like a knife.

“Let your mind wander on its own. I won’t speak to you while the lights are off because I want your inner thoughts to speak instead. Reflect on your day and your feelings. Letting go is the best thing for you right now. I’ll be touching you occasionally to check in, but let me know if you need me, okay?”

You made an affirmative noise and nodded your head, feeling silly as you realized he probably couldn’t see you. Light tapping sound of his shoes moved back to the front of the ottoman. Hoseok sat in front of you and resumed eating his apple. The sound of him taking bites and chewing the fruit tickled your ears, and you grew more and more relaxed. The lids of your eyes grew heavy, your flesh weakening under the hold of the ropes and the flex of the position he had placed you in.

As you closed your eyes, your lungs took a deep breath and your thoughts floated back to earlier events of the day—the taste of your morning coffee, the smiles of your employees as they joked about their weekend plans, the ache in your chest as you ate your lunch alone. Heat grew in your chest as you recalled archiving botched reports, confirmed the data was still being reported incorrectly…and the meeting…the meeting which reminded you that your hard work meant nothing—only connections mattered. You sniffled your nose as your memory summoned Norm’s voice, belittling your efforts, failing to understand what was so clear in your mind. He would never listen to you because you were unimportant. Insignificant. A smudge on an otherwise clean canvas of corporate design. Who were you to think you would ever be important enough to be listened to. The truth did not matter. You did not matter—and you would never matter now—because you had left in a fury. What if you can’t find another job? What if you sealed your fate and screwed your chances of finding another position because you stood up for yourself? Did you make a mistake? Should you have laid down and taken it like the rest of them?

Your eyes stung as tears began to dribble down your searing cheeks. The stretch of your neck ached and your back grew sorer as you trembled—burdened by the self-deprecating thoughts you were experiencing. A warm touch brushed your shoulder, making you tense as you returned to the present. His hand glided down your body, reading it in the darkness, and you hoped just this once that he wouldn’t detect how upset you were. The soft pads of his fingertips brushed your thighs gently, and all you wanted was to enjoy how grounded his touch made you feel.

_I want this to last forever so I can pretend someone cares about me._

You trembled and began to sob a muffled cry into the apple, causing his hand to pull away immediately. A sharp tug against the rope freed your legs from the bend of hogtie, but the loosening of your limbs only gave your body more room to bawl.

“Shh…” he hushed with a soft tone, taking the apple from your mouth and rubbing your hair with his palm. “Rest your forehead, I’ll get you out of these ropes.”

“Just leave me here…,” you whispered, doubling over with continued tears.

“I’m not leaving you,” he replied firmly, moving to untie your ankles. The bonds were freed quickly and you felt his hands scoop underneath your body to move you into an upright, seated position.

“Root your feet into the floor, I’m going to turn the hallway light on, okay?” he said.

You nodded, feeling your head begin to clear in the new position. Tears dried on your cheeks as you took deep breaths, trying to overcome the sadness which was pressing to resurface. A glimmer of dim light filled the room and Hoseok returned to sit next to you on the ottoman. His hands grasped the sides of your face tenderly.

“What happened, ___? Did I hurt you? Do the upper ropes need to come off?”

“No, I like them. It’s just…,” you paused, “…my thoughts…”

“They went somewhere you didn’t want to go?”

“Yes.”

“Where? Back to work?”

You took a deep breath and frowned.

“What if I fucked up? What if quitting wasn’t the right thing to do?”

“Why do you say that? Why did you quit if it was the wrong choice?”

“Because I knew I was never going to change anything and I was fed up. I’m a nobody. No one was going to listen to me. It didn’t matter whether I was right or wrong.”

Hoseok paused a moment, trying to formulate his words.

“Have you always felt this badly about yourself?”

 _Yes_ , you thought, too pained by the truth to utter the word. The petals of your lips pressed together in a strained, thin line. He examined your expression with hurt eyes and took a deep sigh.

“Come with me.”

He slipped his fingers into the folds of the back of your chest harness and helped you to your feet. Holding the harness in one hand, he directed you to your bathroom and shut the door.

“Look into the mirror, ___, and tell me what you see.”

Your drooping eyes barely lifted before beholding the image of a broken woman in the glass. The swollen face, smudged makeup, and wilting corners of your mouth were all signs of someone who had given up. The flush of your cheeks and darkness under your eyes provided the backdrop for pupils which you found to be hollow and listless. A shell of a person stared back at you; you barely registered she was a person at all.

“I look empty and tired.”

Hoseok let go of the harness from behind you, moving his hand to brush your hair across your shoulder to one side, exposing your bare skin to his view. You could feel his warm breath along its surface as he placed his hands on your arms.

“Would you like to know what I see?”

His voice was low, barely above a whisper, and you were kidding yourself if you weren’t wildly interested in his perspective on the matter. You slowly nodded your head, bracing your heart to prepare to be validated on every shortcoming you had been marinating over since your teen years.

“I see a woman who commits herself in whole. She may be tired, but she is far from empty. Her eyes have seen much and are full of experience, enough to predict danger and alert others. She sees the larger picture, and is willing to sacrifice much for others, often at her own expense.”

He gulped as his eyes met yours in the mirror, your expression mixed by how profound his words were. His sight refocused on your shoulder, and he continued.

“I see a woman who struggles often, but has learned much about herself in the process. Her face contorts in disdain when confronted, but can easily soften when at peace. She is fluid, adaptable—a survivor. She is open to trying new things, confronting fears head-on. It shows in her resolve, in her willingness to continue when she knows something may hurt, but is necessary.”

A lump formed in your throat as you heard the wavering in his voice.

“She is so close to finding herself. She has become battle-hardened from years of living, which have given her all the tools to succeed, and yet she doesn’t see how far she’s come in just a few weeks. Her body which used to fear now willingly submits with urgency. It runs toward aid, it heals itself—it wants to live and flourish—and once she learns to…see herself the way I see her…,” he swallowed, his expression pained, “she won’t need anyone ever again.”

Your chest tightened as your breathing sputtered under his words. He looked as broken as you felt, his eyes downcast with a furrowed brow—the look of a man who had been in your place before, and was reliving every moment of it.

“Touch me,” you whispered, feeling the words slip off your tongue in desperation.

His hands faltered as they slid down your arms, the obscure beads of his eyes growing darker as they darted wildly at your eyes in the mirror.

“What did you say?” he asked, beginning to tremble as he sought confirmation on what he just heard.

“Please…touch me,” you pleaded, chest heaving with uneven pants of air strained under his ropes.

Hoseok hesitated, delirious over two fundamentally different choices—then exhaled sharply like a man who made his decision and was going to commit to it fully, grabbing your hair by the fist and yanking it back, sending a profound shockwave down your spinal column. The corners of your mouth curled like a Cheshire cat as you felt the vibrations of his voice on the exposed side of your neck.

“Is this what you want, hm?” he hissed in your ear, nuzzling his nose against your earlobe and looking like he was going to get lost in your scent. “You want Master to keep you tied and use you up?”

“Yes, Master,” you whined as you felt his fingertips trail down your abdomen. Your breasts tightened as he flicked the waistband of your panties, teasing you. The tip of his index finger snapped the elastic band against your hip. Then, as soon as you twitched against the sensation, his hand dove into your panties, the pads of his touch pressing hard against your clit, already coated with a warm sheen of need.

“Have you imagined me doing this to you?” he hummed against your skin, rotating his fingers against your most sensitive nerves in a slow, menacing drag.

“God, yes,” you panted, desperately shifting your hips to press deeper into his touch.

“How long?”

“Sin—since the beginning,” you confessed, desperate to get your panties off but having no free hands to help yourself.

“Have you touched yourself to thoughts of me?” he asked, moving his fingers closer, painfully approaching where you wanted him.

“Yes, Master,” you keened as he whipped your body around to face him and swiftly shoved your panties to the ground before sending possessive smacks to your thighs to spread them. Your legs trembled, buckling at the sharp intrusion of his fingers burrowing deep inside of you, making the lewdest squelch you had ever heard.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted inside this wet cunt of yours?” he growled.

A mewl squeezed between your panting breaths, “How long?”

“Since you rolled that pussy into your pillow, dirty girl,” he hissed, dragging his teeth along the slope of your neck. “God, that moan has haunted me ever since.”

A tension began to curl deep in your core, continuously under assault by his undulating tendrils. You dropped your head onto his shoulder to try to withstand how urgently your body needed to come. It was harder with no arms available to help you along, but the involuntary rocking of your hips against his hand and your mewling no doubt communicated your enthusiasm.

His thumb pressed against your clit as his fingers slowed, creating a small window of time to grab you by the ropes of your chest harness and pull your body away from his. He grabbed you by the throat to stabilize your body, then dragged his veined hand deliberately down between your heaving breasts.

“You are so beautiful with the wildness in your eyes when you’re this close to spilling all over my hand,” he teased with a small pinch at your needy nub, before resuming a circular graze against your clitoral hood. “Would you like to come?”

The question was presented with the most sinister matter-of-fact voice that made your walls clench around his fingers.

“Yes, Master, please…”

“Then lean back and let me hear you,” he commanded, before tilting you back against the countertop, with your bound arms resting against its cold surface. Your legs shook as he resumed plunging his fingers inside of your aching walls, his free hand flying to grab hungrily at your breasts. It would have taken every last ounce of self-control to keep you silent, but as soon as your eyes began to roll into the back of your head, his fingertips stiffened and started to batter against your g-spot, making your jaw drop with incoherent whines and moans of his name.

“Oh god, Hoseok, I’m gon—

“That’s right,” he urged, increasing the ferocity of his hand. “Come on my fingers and give me something to taste.”

His words were the last straw to finally break you, causing a cry to emerge from your sore throat as your juices spilled onto his hand in sputtering bursts. His eyes closed as he relished in the satisfaction of giving you that release, keeping his hand rocking at a slowing pace to ease you out of your high. His other hand reached behind you to pull at the knots binding your arms. With a few short, sharp pulls and tugs, your shoulders breathed a sigh of relief as the ropes uncoiled onto the countertop, freeing your wrists.

His hand withdrew from your body and lifted toward his mouth, the fingers wet with your slick, the strings of it bridging across his fingers. He heaved a sigh as he looked at them, wearing an expression of a man who had fantasized about this before and was finally going to have his wish. His eyes closed in adoration as his tongue enveloped the tips and pulled them into his mouth to savor the taste. You watched with renewed ache and longing as he moaned softly—then dropped to his knees like a broken man. The palms of his hands crept up your legs as your chest tightened with anticipation of what he would do. Instinctively, your knees turned in as you tried to shield how exposed you were to his eyes, which had begun to bore into your core with a hunger you had never seen before.

"Please ___,” he whispered, his voice shaking, “don’t close yourself off from me.”

His warm hands gripped lovingly at your waist as though you housed the last source of water on the planet, and he stared into your eyes, waiting for permission to be given. Your legs buckled against the bathroom cabinets as your fingers carded through his hair before pulling him closer to you. A final nod gave him the last signal he needed before he desperately pressed your form against the hard surface behind you, making the doors of your vanity rattle as his lips parted your folds and unleashed his eager tongue against you.

“Oh god, Hoseok!” you moaned before biting your lip and bringing your hand to your mouth to silence yourself.

You reveled in the temptation of breaking his “no sex with clients” rule, your body shaking as your overstimulated entrance was lapped over again and again, as though Hoseok sought to pull every taste of you into his mouth. His lips alternated between soft pecks and firm sweeps as he tenderly trapped your clit in his mouth with repeated sucks. You whined as you pulled on the ends of his hair, getting lost in the sensations he gave you. The tugging against him only renewed his efforts, as his hand moved to shift your left leg and place it over his shoulder. Pants fell from your lips as you felt your body begin to tense with the promise of a second orgasm barreling in your direction.

Hoseok slowed his motions, bringing your attention back to the present as you tilted your chin down to look at him. His pupils were black as night, blown out past all decency, and he peered wickedly at your mouth gaping open at him. Looking amused by how disheveled you had to have appeared at this point, he chuckled against you and began to pull on your lower lips with his teeth, grazing the tender skin with enough force to increase its swelling without causing pain.

“Aa—fuck,” you exhaled, unfamiliar with the feeling of having teeth used so expertly in such a sensitive place. Your hands braced yourself against the countertop as your hips began to rock against his face.

“Tsk, your body feels like it needs to come again, pet,” he mumbled as his hand slithered to palm your ass.

“Mhm,” you whimpered, cognizant of how needy you sounded as his hot breath fanned against your flesh.

“Then come on my tongue, dirty girl,” he urged, digging his fingers into your skin to anchor you for the next wave of pleasure.

His tongue stiffened as it teased your overly sensitive nerves. His strong, agile fingers dove back into your entrance with renewed vigor as he quickly hooked them against your walls, sending your mind into a tailspin. Your nails dug into his scalp as moans emanated from within you, but the pain of your touch only spurred him further, coaxing him to hum against your folds. His free hand latched on as his nails scratched possessively down your ass, leaving stinging streaks in its wake.

A cry resounded in the closed walls of your bathroom as your last orgasm tore through your body, causing your legs to shake uncontrollably as you clung to your countertop. Hoseok groaned in approval from between your legs, his tongue seeking to catch every drop like a man about to die of thirst. When he was satisfied at last, he leaned back on his heels and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Through your delirium, you could see the straining tent in his dark pants, desperate for attention—and you wanted nothing more than to reciprocate the pleasure he had given you.

“Does Master wanna fuck his pet?” you purred, too aroused to think clearly or filter your profane desires.

“Christ,” he sighed, rising to his feet and turning your body over to press your breasts against the cold, marble surface. He held you down by your harness with one hand and began to unbuckle his belt with his other, making your stomach flip incessantly because you were finally going to have him at last—

Until you didn’t hear it—the sound of him shifting his clothes and pulling his dick out. Your body tensed at the sound of silence, the room growing still as you heard Hoseok not make a sound. Then, as quickly as he bent you over the countertop, he began to untie your harness, pulling sharply at the cords to free you as quickly as possible. He was mumbling something to himself and sounded irritated, but you couldn’t make out the words with your ears still abuzz from his earlier ministrations.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you turned your head, craning your neck to see what the issue was, but as soon as you asked the question he opened the bathroom door and walked out. A weight dropped in your stomach as you felt your blood run cold, and you abruptly pushed yourself off the counter and followed him.

You found Hoseok frantically packing his things into his black bag, continuing to mutter to himself something you couldn’t make out.

“Hey,” you touched his shoulder, trying to get his attention—only to feel him recoil from you.

“P-please don’t touch me,” he stammered.

“What’s wr—

"I can’t do this, ___.” He turned to face you, bearing a distressed expression, “I should never have come here today.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, grabbing your blouse from the floor to cover your breasts.

“I have to resign. I can’t do this anymore,” he grimaced as he turned his face away from you.

“Why?”

“Because I just took advantage of you, ___!” his eyes flashed angrily. “God, my one rule and I fucked it up.”

“But—I wanted that to happen,” you argued.

“Of course you did, but you’re not in your right frame of mind.  _I’m_  not in my right frame of mind. I should have quit sooner, ___, I’m so sorry. My god, what have I done…” he trailed off and continued to shake his head in shame, scolding himself under his breath. He grabbed the handles of his duffel bag and made for the front door, but you called after him.

“Don’t go!” you pleaded. “Please, I don’t want you to go like this.”

His body flinched like he was hesitating, but he steadied himself on the doorknob of your front door and turned back toward you.

“Don’t make this harder on us. I-I have to walk out this door because if I stay I’m only going to cause more damage to you and I can’t…can’t live with myself if I do that. I don’t trust myself around you, so I can’t be your therapist anymore. I will gather your records and drop them off next week once I’ve come to my senses.”

“But—

"If you want an exit appointment with final recommendations or a referral elsewhere, we can discuss it later. Or—actually, I’ll just leave everything in your front door mail slot. Then you won’t have to see me again.”

Your heart twisted at his sterile words as your eyes began to fill with tears. “Hoseok…”

He opened the door and looked over his shoulder, unable to take a full direct look but still needing to communicate one last thing.

“It was a privilege serving you, ___. Please take care of yourself.”

As the door slammed behind him, your legs gave out and you tumbled to the floor. Sobs racked your nude figure as you felt the pangs of rejection dash your hopes of a future with him, leaving you more alone and full of despair than you thought possible.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Hoseok struggle separately to process what has transpired between you.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _Life dealt a cruel hand indeed, and you couldn't understand why you weren’t allowed to be happy. You would give anything to go back and never pick up his card or call his number. It wouldn't have stopped the issues with your job, but it would have spared you the pain of looking into the eyes of the man who would never be yours..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Hoseok x Reader  
> Genre: Angst  
> Warning: Therapist!Hoseok, Shibari!Hoseok, therapist/client relationship, mentions of alcohol, profanity.
> 
> A/N:  This chapter contains both the Reader and Hoseok’s POV and will be labeled whenever it switches. It’s a sad one, but necessary for the rest of the series. Hope you enjoy!

**[Hoseok’s POV]**

_Cost of living would never work_ , Hoseok calculated as he expelled another debilitating sigh and stretched his tired fingers over the worn, faded keys of his laptop. Unease stirred in his gut, as he found himself sitting at one of the rear tables at Pika's on the busiest breakfast shift in the week, closing another tab on his internet browser, shutting another door to his future. After days of trying to clear his head, he found that the silence of his cramped apartment was too deafening, too risky, as his thoughts repeatedly migrated to the previous Friday. He hadn't so much as touched a rope since leaving ___ in a dejected and vulnerable state that night, and now the only productive thing he could do was drag himself outdoors to get breakfast and explore job ads among the bustling noise of clanging dishes and neighborhood gossip. It was fair to say the waitress’ choice of sitting him next to the kitchen was the highlight of his day, as he would have the assurance of knowing it would be too loud to hear the doubts floating in his own head.

He felt adrift, like an aimless wanderer with no concrete goal, apart from scrounging for the next meal. It was a feeling he knew all too well, and now he found himself asking if it was a failure to leave—to relocate once again. If he was being honest with himself, it was easy to justify the choice. After all, he had no connections here; the few friends and family he had lived elsewhere, back in his previous city where Yewon had gone out of her way to make sure he wouldn’t have a client base should he return. The sources of income he had been reliant upon in his current city had all but dried up as his clients’ conditions improved and they no longer needed his services. Hoseok knew he was going to have to act fast if he had any hope to survive this setback on his own. He couldn't bear the humiliation of asking his sister for money again.

The rough pads of his fingertips rubbed circles over his worn-out eyes as his ears detected the light clink of a glass coffee pot refilling his almost-empty mug.

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can get for you, dear?" the busty waitress offered with a concerned expression only a mother could wear. "You look sickly."

"I'm fine, just getting over a cold," Hoseok heard himself lie again this week, "but thank you."

The truth was that nothing tasted the same after resigning and leaving ___ last Friday. Even the sweetness of the macarons he loved had been tainted, as they had since devolved into a detestable cardboard flavor. Sips from his favorite coffee were equally disappointing, as it mimicked the taste of instant coffee which had been left unsealed for months. Everything was stale and stagnant, and the unsatisfactory feeling permeated nearly all his senses, from sight, to smell, to taste. It was akin to being stuck, with the undying urge to be unstuck—but with no way to get there—and it was sapping all his energy.

A desktop notification popped up on his computer: an email from a therapist he had been in contact with after inquiring several local businesses. The least he could do was assemble a proper list of recommended therapists and counselors for ___, after everything that had happened. It was customary for him to provide such a list in the event a client needed assistance in other areas Hoseok wasn’t comfortable with professionally. ___’s file remained unfinished and in sore need of a timely closing, but Hoseok felt compelled to spend additional time wrapping hers up. In a way, completing her file thoroughly and sending her off with the best list of possible replacements was as close to absolution he could hope for under the current circumstances. It wouldn’t be enough to release him from his guilt, he knew, but it was something.

He copied the therapist's contact information and pasted it into the untitled folder in the corner of his desktop, a growing repository of supplemental treatment information, arranged and customized for her based on the information she supplied with her original intake paperwork and his observations from the last several weeks. All he had left to do was wait on the outstanding responses from his other inquiries, finish the recommendation list, and close out her file.

However, each addition of a possible replacement became a struggle for him. Would the next therapist listen to her properly? Would they be focused enough to treat the root of her issues, or would every week be a band-aid to keep her coming back again and again? Would ___ even consider any of the choices on the list, or would she assume they were as unprofessional as he had been in his weakest moment? Would she stop seeking help altogether? Did she need it now that she no longer worked at her office?

It was hard for him to focus as his mind repeatedly ventured down the rabbit hole of wondering how she was doing, how she was feeling. He missed her, but never dared to speak the words aloud for fear it would renew the pain he was still trying to process.

Hoseok took another sip of coffee as he prepared to draft a thank-you email to the therapist—but nearly choked on the drink when he heard the chime at the shop’s front door and saw  _her_. He blinked repeatedly in disbelief and hoped his coffee had been spiked with a hallucinogen. The object of his tormented thoughts for the last several days had just walked into Pika's, on the busiest day of the week, and sat right at the front counter.

The first thought to traverse Hoseok's consciousness was anger at himself for being there in an establishment he knew she frequented.  _How careless_ , he winced, upset that his acute logic had overlooked so critical a detail.  _What if she sees me? Fuck, how could I have been here and risked this?!_  The prospective horror of being discovered was physically discomforting and made him shift in his chair, but as quietly as a mouse, as he was now increasingly concerned she would hear his movement over all the commotion of the busy breakfast shift.

As he ducked his head lower into his laptop to avoid being seen, he became focused on the second thought: the need to take in her features and state of being. He felt it was intrusive, like he was spying on her in some way and was clearly not welcome, even though she was in a public space and could be examined by any onlooker. Still, he had to know and see for himself how she was doing, if for no other reason than to lay that gnawing urge to rest.

She seemed weakened, diminished, as if she hadn't eaten properly in days. Her jaw hung loosely as her lips drooped; her face looked like a flower that had long since wilted from lack of sunlight. Not only were her eyes hollow, shadows of their former selves, but she was barely using them. A woman like ___ was usually one to observe her surroundings when she entered a room, but today she was resigned to blend into the cold, sterile countertop she slouched over. It was as if she was in the privacy of her home and alone, free to discard proper posture and all forms of public interaction. Either that, or she didn't care about the other patrons there who could judge her for looking so tired and drained in an otherwise bustling and jovial environment. On this morning, she seemed to be serving the baser need for food and not much else, and although it saddened Hoseok, he felt a little relieved that she was so zoned out. If she felt half as awful as he had in these past few days, she probably wouldn't notice him at all.

A frown fell on her features as a waitress muttered something to her. Perhaps it was news they had run out of her favorite, as the expression appeared to be disappointment and the waitress began rattling off a list of alternatives. As Hoseok continued to look on the scene, the ache in his heart was unmistakable. He wanted to intercede, talk to her, help her cheer up—but he couldn't do it, or rather  _shouldn’t_  do it. And the despairing feeling of being a mere observer crept up his aching throat, over his cheekbones, and settled in the back of his eyes. A part of him wanted to dash out of the shop to retrieve the necessary ingredients so the cooks could make whatever she wanted, just so she could have a flicker of something pleasant in her day. It would be a small, fleeting comfort, given all the hurt he knew he had inflicted upon her, but he wanted to correct his mistake of making her feel as discarded as she looked before him. The urgent need to eradicate her sadness by any means possible, that relentless tugging in his chest, was eclipsed only by the doubled-over anger toward himself for putting her in that position in the first place.

 _Just sit here, focus on the screen_ , he chanted in his head as he grappled with every bone in his body wanting to run to her and apologize for everything. He blamed himself, knowing deep down that if he had just left sooner, resigned before the line between them was crossed, things would be different for her—for both of them. Now the only thing left was to decide which city to disappear to next, after he worked up the nerve to finish her file and release it to her, that is.

Truthfully, he didn’t want to leave, but he felt it would be selfish and unfair to stay. The yearning for resolution was all Hoseok wanted in that moment as he beheld the woman he still cared deeply for, but could no longer reach. As much as he wanted to explain himself and beg for her forgiveness, he wasn't willing to encroach on her now that damage had been done. She needed space and time to heal the wounds their tryst had brought—and he knew it. And that was why he was resolved to remain anchored to his seat, blended in with the other coffee shop patrons, even though he missed her deeply. He didn't want to miss her, but he knew the sweet, sad twist in his stomach was all for her—for her warm laugh when she was at ease, for her sharp tongue when she was provoked, for her inviting scent when he held her close, and for her intoxicating taste when she called to him to take her for himself.

Hoseok grunted in the back of his throat and took another swig from his coffee mug. The lukewarm liquid did little to distract from the truth that continued to resurface over the last several days: he still wanted her, as fucked up as he knew it was to still long for closeness after what had taken place between them. It took many days to digest how he could have been so careless as to form an attachment with her, and the only answer he had was that they clicked. It was accidental, of course, but by the time he realized they were getting too close, he couldn’t bear to stop. He was lonely and wanted someone in his life to share his most important and intimate pastime, and interacting with ___ was natural, almost effortless. The last time he met a woman who was that easy to connect with, he almost married her.

And yet, the two women were nothing alike. Yewon was more self-centered and focused on preserving herself, whereas ___ sacrificed her own needs for the sake of others. Yewon had never experienced a weak moment in her life, and that gave her confidence. ___, on the other hand, struggled to gain a secure footing in establishing her self-worth, and that was one reason why she had allowed her managers to walk all over her. Most importantly, when things became difficult, Yewon was quick to cut her losses, going as far as replacing him without trying to work things out. By stark contrast, ___ continued to face her fears when she knew it would hurt anyway; she sought growth and was willing to change herself to improve her situation.

Hoseok rested his veined hand on the edge of the table to brace himself as he beheld her with aggrieved eyes. She would never know how much he thought about turning the car around and driving back to finish the job and fuck her like she asked—like he had wanted. And every moment he desired her since that day, he was lashed with internal rebukes from his higher self who felt it was the wrong thing to do. It was unfair to build a safe place for a person and then use that space to cure his loneliness, even if she asked for it. There was no way to be sure she even wanted him specifically; it could be just as likely she wanted a warm body following those trips to subspace and he was available.

Knowing her attachment could be built on a fantasy world he created was why he felt compelled to leave. But now that he had, he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t rid of the feeling, or why she looked ill so many days after it happened. Was the unfinished file the tie binding himself to her? Would the spell be broken for them once she had it in her hands? He wasn’t sure he wanted that, now that she was standing only a few yards away from him.

A deep, regrettable sigh brushed passed his lips.  _She's not my client anymore_ , he angrily reminded himself as he grappled with the urge to continue examining her while she waited for her breakfast. He had an obligation to finish the emails that would bring him closer to letting her go.

 _But...she's not my client anymore_ , he yo-yoed in his head as he remembered the rule which initially separated them no longer applied. Was it still unethical to pursue her if he was no longer her therapist? Was it unethical to even entertain such a notion?

He shook his head to clear the thoughts from his mind, when he spotted the baker emerging from the kitchen with a large bag of fresh muffins. ___ stirred in her bar stool, wiggling her legs to loosen herself from the seat and approach the pastry-filled parcel—that was mere inches from his seat.

"Large bag of blackberry muffins for the lady!" the baker called over the crowd as he lifted the bag high over his head and walked toward ___'s direction. She moved closer to him and lifted her arm, reaching out to them.

 _She's going to see me. She's going to see me_. Hoseok’s heart raced in panic as he felt the risk mounting in his belly, the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Her view shifted toward his seat, but before their eyes could meet, Hoseok averted his gaze and pierced deeply into the laptop, as if he were using laser vision to burn holes into the screen.

Still, he felt it: her eyes spotting him at his table, her body tensing at the sight, the drowning in his lungs.

* * *

 

**[Reader’s POV]**

_He's here._

The sharp puncture in your chest irradiated a most stifling heat that branched into your neck and cheeks. Moving with ease and hoping he hadn't seen you was a foolish hope. It was obvious he had seen you, as you noticed the way his jaw clenched as he stared at his computer, unwilling to acknowledge you when just a few days prior he had been burying that same jaw between your legs.

The baker handing you the paper bag of pastries looked startled by the sudden change in your expression, so you quickly nodded and mumbled a thank you, and he was quick to dismiss your appearance after that. With the bag in your hand, you felt time slow as your feet became heavy, like lead, unable to carry you away from your former therapist’s table fast enough. The pressure in your chest intensified as your lungs began to heave—an anxiety attack was imminent.

 _Not here, get out_.

You blinked hard as your tear ducts began to blur the sight of him sitting there, trying to distract himself. Wrapping your arms around the bag of muffins was the only act of shielding your body you could muster as you internally screamed at your legs to move.

Before your limbs willed your chance to escape, his eyes turned toward you. Perhaps the temptation of a last look was too great for him, but at the moment your eyes met, your stomach stirred with fluttering anticipation—hope. It was a feeling contrary to the burning panic in your chest and face, and the mismatch of feelings was too much to bear. You were rendered speechless as you relived the best moments you shared with him: the timbre of his voice as he advised in each session, the intimacy you felt when he cared for you, the tenderness of his hands your body continued to seek, even as you stood there.

Life dealt a cruel hand indeed, and you couldn't understand why you weren’t allowed to be happy. You would give anything to go back and never pick up his card or call his number. It wouldn't have stopped the issues with your job, but it would have spared you the pain of looking into the eyes of the man who would never be yours, the man who you knew cared for you too, in his own way, but let his principles block your chances of having a future with him in it. His argument that you were not in your right mind to decide what you wanted was complete bullshit in your view, especially since your feelings had grown over time, prior to that last session.

And now here you were, cemented where you stood by his gaze that looked as pained and broken as yours. His hand held too firmly to his coffee mug as his throat bobbed in a solemn swallow. The eyes which had always brought you peace and comfort were now glassed over with a layer of emotive struggle. He looked so tired, like a shell of his former self, and a vengeful part of you hoped he was losing as much sleep as you had these last few days. At least then you would share something again. His chest looked uneasy as he tried to remain still. You could see he wanted to say something, but the words weren’t coming out.  _What if he says something that will hurt me even more,_ you wondered. And at that moment, your fight-or-flight response gave you the means to pick up your feet, clutch your muffins tightly to your chest and dash out of the shop.

* * *

 

The slam of your car door ushered the tears which had been threatening to burst inside of Pika's. At least here, in the quiet of your modest coupe, no one would be able to see how pathetic you looked, wiping your runny nose with an old gas station napkin and stuffing it into the side pocket of your driver-side door. You felt the pangs of guilt for running away from him, but what would you have done next, taken a seat and discussed the weather? What if he had wanted to talk, to discuss something serious, like the last interaction between you? Could you have handled that conversation? Was there even a conversation to be had when he was so clear about wanting to leave?

A nagging throb began to form in your temple. You had no answers for yourself, or anyone for that matter, only impulse. And it was the impulse that brought you to the coffee shop to recklessly purchase a large order of enriched flour goods in the first place. They wouldn't do you any favors physically, but they would make you feel better. It had been the first time you emerged from your rental since Hoseok left, and fate saw fit to put him in your path again.

_Why can't I just get over him?_

You felt like you were in high school again, re-navigating the waters of your first real breakup where you blubbered into a pint of chocolate ice cream.  _At least these muffins have fruit in them_ , you mused as you plucked one from the bag and took a desperate bite. As expected, the sweetness of the blackberries made your dry mouth salivate. The jaw working over the muffin ached from the chewing, having already been racked with sobs for days, but it still worked in your favor. You were still eating, and you could take that win for the day and let the tiny glimmer of self-preservation sustain you to make the drive home.

The first thing you did when you got home was gently place your new baked friends on the kitchen countertop. The second task, and infinitely more important, was taking your bra off. There was no one to impress in your current emotional state, no job to dress for, no visitors to host. As your fingers pinched the clasp, your memory hearkened back to Hoseok's musings about free breasts being healthy, and you felt sadness wash over you again. How many of these moments were going to be stolen by thoughts of him? There were too many to count.

Your decade-old, faded yoga pants draped lazily over the arm of the sofa, right where you left them. You couldn't remember how many days you had worn them in a row, but the passable scent of them allowed you to forgive yourself as you slipped them back on.

Plunging back onto the worn-in cushions of the sofa, you yawned and reached for the oversize patchwork quilt that had been partially tucked underneath the back cushions from your earlier slumber. To tell the truth, you had been living on the sofa since Friday evening, when you discovered that your bed and pillow held too many painful memories. As soon as your head was cushioned against the soft plush, you relived the moment of rutting against the pillow as your legs burned under the restraint of the ropes and remembered Hoseok digging his nails into your back and commanding you to come. The reaction your body had to experience that again was a blend of primal longing and regretful nausea, so you resolved to accept that you wouldn’t able to reclaim your bed just yet.

You pulled the thick blanket up to your shoulders as you felt the earlier throb grow into a full headache from your encounter at the coffee shop. You suspected your head would be killing you today, as a half-empty bottle of Maker's Mark rested on your side table, strategically located within arms’ reach. It was easy to slip back into the comfort of alcohol when there were no answers to satisfy all the questions which had developed since he left. It wasn't ideal or the responsible way to handle your feelings, but you didn’t care. The bottle sitting on the table quieted the recollections of him and left you numb enough to enjoy the k-dramas which had been cycling through your television non-stop since Friday. The dialogue of the cast members created the illusion of having a full house and you felt less isolated. You knew it was artificial; you were indeed alone, in so many ways, but you weren't prepared to face that reality yet, not when you were still crying every few hours as you reflected on the loss of your job and Hoseok. For now, you just wanted time to pass with as little pain as possible, and bourbon and blackberry muffins were your chosen method to make that happen.

Another episode of a predictable drama passed as you felt yourself mold into the sofa, becoming one with the furniture—invisible.

"Just leave me here!" you heard the leading lady sob onscreen. Her romantic interest shook his head and grabbed her cheeks, brushing them tenderly with his thumb, before replying, "I'm not leaving you."

Your mind tormented you as it ricocheted back to last week when the same words were exchanged between you and Hoseok. You could almost feel his hands gliding over your skin, checking on you again. The rub of the ropes crept back over your body, and you missed it—and despised it. Tears stung your eyes as you bit your bottom lip and felt your chest tighten once more. How many was this now…three, four times?

 _...You think you deserve punishment…_ Hoseok called from your memory. Drops fell on your cheeks as you turned away from the television and tucked your legs close to your chest.

 _...by you walking out today, you left yourself vulnerable...I thought someone as smart as you would have had a backup plan..._ his voice echoed in your ears.

Your lungs strained under the labor of hyperventilation. It felt as though the heavy foot of loss was stomping on your chest, trying to cave it in at last. The voices from the television became hazy and hard to decipher. The only noise you could clearly hear was the growing buzzing behind your eyes, the ringing in your ears, and every bone in your body ached like you hadn't moved in months, like you may never move again. Your mind continued to spin, propelling you backward in time...

> "It was a privilege serving you, ___. Please take care of yourself."
> 
> The door slammed shut and you felt the chill of abandonment spread across your bare skin. The stiffness in your upper thigh as it pressed into the floor was the only sensation connecting you to the present, that horrifying moment you sat in front of the entrance, wanting him to come back. Hoseok's sandalwood scent still lingered in the entryway, his last words playing on repeat.  _Please take care of yourself._  Well, how could you do that now when you felt all your hope drained to the last bitter drop?
> 
> As if on auto-pilot, your forlorn form pulled itself from the floor and meandered to the bathroom. The light was still on and the air felt warm and suffocating. Your reflection in the mirror was a haunting sight to behold. As your eyes took in your features, your jaw fell into the ugliest wail and you heard his words again:  _"...Once she learns to see herself the way I see her...she won't need anyone ever again."_
> 
> "Liar!" you screamed at no one, your sight blurred by your hot tears. Banging your hands against the countertop sent sharp electric shocks into your wrists. The pain was as jarring as it was sobering, and it cleared your head long enough to refocus your attention on finding the box of tissues. But no sooner had you reached out for the cardboard container, you felt them—the red ropes left behind. His ropes, the coiled jute used in your last shibari tie earlier that evening.
> 
> _How dare he just leave these here,_  you grimaced in disbelief that someone as organized as Hoseok would forget such a prized tool of his trade. Plucking a tissue and folding it quickly, you angrily blew your nose as your pupils shot daggers at the unassuming cords. With a snarl, you clutched them angrily and stomped into the hallway. Do you throw them out? Do you set them on fire and mail him the ashes? Do you cry clinging to them until you're all dried out?
> 
> You couldn't decide, your mind reeling from insult as the ropes were a reminder he had just left you there in the floor—in a hurry. There were feelings percolating to the surface you couldn’t name or process, but they registered in your body and took a firm hold, refusing to let go. And upon realizing you were incapable of making good choices for the foreseeable future, you tabled the decision and threw the hallway closet door open, making it slam violently against the wall. Your arm hurled wildly, sending the ropes flying into the deepest recesses of the closet. The door echoed as you flung it shut, and your knees buckled as your bare back slid against the wall and you let yourself break all over again.

Your arm reached up overhead past the edge of the sofa to brush your fingers against the glass bottle with the wax cap. The entirety of your body was in pain again, but your mind didn't have to be. You could coast for the rest of the evening in a drunken stupor and get lost in the k-dramas, which is what you wanted.

 _"Please ___, ...don't close yourself off from me,"_ his small voice rattled in your consciousness _._

You hesitated, the tips of your fingers pulling away from the bottle's neck and tucking deep underneath your blanket.

"I wish I could," you whispered, as another tear soaked into the cushions.

* * *

 

Another week passed as you continued your extended residence on the sofa, but it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and you were now growing resentful of every romantic trope that appeared on your television screen.

"I'll come back for you," the handsome soldier assured his tearful lover. Her eyes brimmed with hope for his return, yet her makeup was perfect.

"Nah," you judged aloud, rudely crunching on your chips which were plucked straight from a family-sized bag of Doritos. "That fucker's not coming back. You're on your own now, babe."

The scene cut to him heroically leaving her in a helicopter, looking dashing and brave. You rolled your eyes and changed the channel. "Can't believe people actually hope for this soulmate shit."

The next channel was running a home decorating special. You usually hated shows like this, the ones where everything was overpriced and the patterns were ugly and "vintage" or whatever the hip keyword was these days that made people separate themselves from their hard-earned dollars. Why would anyone pay so much for a throw rug in a room that was never going to be used?  _Some people have more money than sense_ , you nodded in remembrance.

Your hand lifted from your lap as you prepared to push the remote button when you heard the program’s client say, "Wow, I really love this bedspread! It's so calming and peaceful."

The camera panned to the most aesthetically pleasing angle of the bed and floated dreamily over the gentle blue hues complementing an inviting beach pattern. A smooth voice offside agreed, "Yes, we wanted to use the blue tones to really bring out that relaxation theme you need in a vacation home."

 _Hm, that's pretty_ , you mused before taking another chip and devouring it in one crunch. The screen cut to a commercial for a household goods store with a coupon code for twenty percent off all linens and curtains. You knew this was how they got to people, to the single women like yourself, wanting to curb their loneliness by buying things. But your eyes betrayed you when they glanced down the hall where your current bed set was spread, and now you wanted a change, hoping that a new duvet cover would make the bed feel new and help you forget the past. You fished your phone out from between the sofa cushions and began ordering new sheets, a new bedspread, and new pillowcases. Sure, you probably should have saved that money, but you were making a lot of poor choices this week, like not rubbing the Doritos grease from your fingertips before ordering on your mobile app.

Once the purchase was made and your bank account was a little emptier, you felt better. Perhaps it was the old belief about retail therapy curing ills, but it seemed true enough for you. You didn't want to cry anymore, feeling exhausted and empty. After all this time living on the sofa, your tear ducts were finally closing shop for the foreseeable future. You just didn’t see the point in feeling sad over it anymore because you knew things weren’t going to change. Hoseok hadn’t even come by to drop off your client file like he said he would, and you weren’t about to call asking for it. You refused to look as desperate as you had felt getting over him.

You needed to sort your shit out and get back on your feet. It was impossible to remain on the sofa and wither away unless you were actually going to fully let yourself go, and your underlying resentment for your old self that felt dependent on Hoseok didn't want to let it win. He left you and he had his reasons for that—which you didn’t agree with—but so what? You were mostly fine with your life before he came along other than your lack of dates and that shitty job, but you don't have that hanging over your head anymore. You could start anew, beginning with the new bedding you charged on your credit card.

Feeling a renewed sense of self-preservation, you let the bare bottoms of your feet brush against the floor as you stood for the first time in several hours. Your back and legs ached, but you moved anyway, as it was the only way to get to the computer resting on your office desk. You were done feeling sorry for yourself.

"Time for another job," you huffed resolutely as you plopped into your chair and opened a fresh browser.

* * *

 

**[Hoseok’s POV, after Pika’s]**

_I'm such a fucking trainwreck today. I couldn't even talk to her and she was right in front of me_ , Hoseok fumed as he angrily threw open the front door to his cramped apartment and tossed his keys across the kitchen countertop.  _It's not fair to her, me still having this file, which I’m going to be late on. We will never heal this way when it's so obvious something was still there._

He felt weak—powerless—and it was all-consuming. One look in ___'s eyes at Pika’s was all it took for him to be sure that it wasn't over between them, not really. She was still the one he wanted, and although he felt it was selfish and he hated the circumstances of the whole situation, he couldn't lie to himself about that. Not when she was the image burned into the back of his eyelids taunting him for being a failure. And now he would remember how his throat burned as he sat in the coffee shop and processed her facial features, her inability to move her feet, her choice to use the bag of muffins as a shield over her heart that he already broke by being a weak man.

Hoseok collapsed in his desk chair and buried his head in his hands as he felt his eyes swell again.

"I'm so sorry, ___," he whispered in the silent space he occupied. The first tear fell on the keyboard and Hoseok welcomed the release of pressure, willing the droplets to continue their descent. Holding it back at Pika's in front of her felt like suffocation. He didn't want to show emotions and further complicate what had happened between them. Deep down, he knew the best way for her to move on would be if she believed there was nothing there, nothing to build upon.  _Of course, if there had been nothing there, none of this would have happened_ , Hoseok rebuked himself as he folded his arms and rested his tear-stained face against them, surrendering to the self-deprecating feelings that had been plaguing him for days.

_You truly are a piece of shit. You should have left her alone instead of ruining her too. She deserves better than you._

Sobs rattled his already trembling shoulders as his thoughts meandered to Yewon, the last woman he loved who had ruined all hope that he would ever find anyone again, or so he thought. It was the most painful truth to bear, knowing that he had found another who he could have had a future with, who he wanted to connect with more, share memories with, to see if he could love again—but now he sat in his chair slumped over his worn desk, resolved to believe that hope for a partner of any kind was a foolish endeavor. He truly lost everything to Yewon, and it was pointless to try to pursue anything for himself now. It was too late, so the best thing to do was focus on survival—to persevere in spite of whatever high-hanging fruit his heart wanted. His heart had shit for brains, as far as he was concerned. If he was to have any peace for himself, and for ___, he would have to finish the file and give her the tools she needed to forget he ever existed, even if it hurt him to let her go.

Hoseok lifted his head and wiped his nose, sniffling harshly to compose himself. He opened the computer program housing his clients' records and located hers, the last he had opened. He had been unable to read the latest session notes for her, unable to update them from that last Friday they were together. But he had to close the door now; it was clear to him that time wasn't going to heal anything as long as he still had that loose end connected to her. He opened a new note—the final note he would ever write for her file—and let his fingers stroll slowly along the keys:

> _Resigned verbally following incident. Last session became inappropriate as therapist/client line was crossed via sexual contact._

A deep sigh blew past his lips as he continued.

> _Transference suspected, still unconfirmed due to lack of formal evaluation. It appears client has developed romantic feelings, but source of them remains unknown; may be product of highly stressful environmental factors. Countertransference suspicion intensified by knowledge the client is attracted to therapist, at least sexually, which was reciprocated. Countertransference to remain unconfirmed due to therapist's inability to consult neutral third-party._

_No fucking way_ , he thought.  _I can barely keep the lights on, let alone afford a consultation for myself._ He began the last bullet point:

> _Ms. ___ may need additional assessment and continued treatment from a new therapist, if she elects. I am no longer in the right capacity to treat her as I remain attracted to her and would likely pursue further romantic involvement if contact continued. As such, I maintain that resignation is the best option. List of possible alternative therapists attached._

_There_.  _Done_. Hoseok clicked the print button and clenched his jaw as his chest became punctured with all the other words he wished he could say to her… _I’m sorry I made you cry. I’m sorry I left you, that I hurt you. I wish things could have been different, that we could have met under different circumstances. I miss seeing you, holding you close to me. I still want you._

Hoseok hissed through his teeth as he shook his head violently and tucked the finished report into an expandable folder and wrapped a large rubber band around its center. All he had left to do was wait for the remaining emails from the other therapists, probably another week or so, and then it would all be over.

* * *

 

The slam of the car door was quieter than normal as he turned to face the front of her small house, file in hand. He had considered turning the car around many times, but he knew he couldn't drag it out any longer. It was time to release the file and be done with it; it was time to let her go and wish her the best in life, even if no words were to be exchanged.

Her car was sitting in the driveway so it was fair to assume she was at home. As the soles of his boots pressed against the concrete slap attached to her front porch, the thudding in his chest grew louder until they rang in his ears.  _Should I knock? Should I make myself known?_ His mind raced with all the possible outcomes that announcing himself could set into motion. It would be rude to just shove the file in the mail slot. She deserved better than that. Still, he did a cruel thing by leaving her there, not even getting her a blanket or giving her time to digest what happened after the bathroom incident. Knowing all that, was it fair to assume she would be insulted if he knocked on the door? And if he did knock, how long was an appropriate time to wait before putting the file in the mail slot and walking away?

"Just do it," he huffed under his breath, ordering his body to proceed with the task instead of standing there dwelling on the what-ifs.  _Why am I so nervous?_

The fingers of his left hand clasped the folder tightly, but tenderly, as the contents therein were not only private, but special to him in a way. After years of tradecraft, he stood on ___’s porch with the knowledge that she was the most interesting client he had ever worked for, willing to follow directions and try new things in spite of being scared of them. The file contained all the records and accounts of her growth, which had been nothing short of remarkable given the number of weeks they had known each other. It really was only a matter of time before ___ wouldn't need anyone anymore. After the time spent observing and talking to her, it was Hoseok's suspicion that many of her sleep and work-life balance issues would clear up in the event she departed her job. There was no way to tell that now of course, because sessions were over, but he hoped as much. He hoped, more than anything, that the recommendations for replacement therapists contained in the expandable folder were no longer necessary.

Bringing up his right hand and pointing his index finger, Hoseok rang the doorbell and waited. Five seconds…ten…then twenty, and all the while his ears were buzzing with the anticipation that ___ could open the door at any moment, and he wouldn't have the luxury of being able to shield himself in a public place this time.

He wasn't ready for it. What if she opened the door and demanded answers? Would he be able to give them to her, or would he freeze and relive all the shame of being such a cosmic fuck-up again like he did at Pika's? Would he be able to say how sorry he was? Would he be able to do it without crying and begging for forgiveness like the broken man he had become?

Time stretched on as his legs grew numb from the long drag of waiting. It was as though all the blood was rushing to his heart to keep him alive, and now he was tasked with facing the music: she wasn't going to answer the door. Even from the farthest corner of her residence, enough time had passed for her to make it to the entryway and accept the file in person.

 _It's probably for the best_ , Hoseok assured himself, as his hands squeezed both sides of the folder as if he was saying goodbye to it. In all the ways that mattered, he was. His eyes spaced out for a moment as the file moved from his hand to the metal mail slot nested in ___'s front door. A part of his chest released the pressure it had been holding in; he felt relieved. If she didn't answer the door, there was no obligation on either side to speak. He wouldn't have to scramble to find the right words he wanted to say to her, and she wouldn't have to listen. She's choosing not to listen, choosing to ignore him, and that gave him a glimmer of hope that she was okay.

The folder slipped through the slot's opening and Hoseok heard the light thud of it hitting the floor on the other side.  _It's over_ , he thought _,_  pulling his body back upright and letting out a closing breath. He moved to turn himself around and return to his car—only to catch the kink of a cracked window blind in the corner of his eyes.

His stomach fell as he froze where he stood, examining the peculiar bend in the plastic, but trying to do so without looking like an obvious peeper.  _Maybe it's just a broken blind...surely, she isn't—_

The suspicion percolating to the surface took full form the moment he saw the blind snap back into place.

___ had been watching from the window.

Hoseok felt his hands grow cold as he brought one up to rub the back of his neck.  _Fuck, these nerves_ , he cursed as he twisted back and forth anxiously, unsure of how to respond to the discovery that the woman he wanted to talk to more than anything was mere inches away, watching him. He wasn’t sure why she was doing that, but it was clear she didn’t want to talk to him.  _If she wanted to talk, she would have opened the door_ , his rationale convinced him. He wasn't about to discard all decency and rudely encroach on her beyond what he promised, which was returning the file and nothing more.

He groaned to himself when he realized how long he had been standing on the porch, mulling over the window blind.  _Idiot, get in the car_.

Turning on his heel, he felt the rush of flight and took a brisk pace off onto the sidewalk. In that moment, putting as much distance between them became his focus, but no sooner had he taken two steps, he heard it—the creak of a door opening behind him...and the stillness in the air as it held ajar.

His feet become lead, anchoring him to the pavement.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You review your client file and confront Hoseok about its contents.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _The longer you stood there, the more weakened you felt. Above all the mixed emotions that had tossed around in your head since he left, the prevailing feeling lingering in your chest was an unwavering yearning for him. You were kidding yourself if you thought it was anything other than that. Telling yourself day in and day out that you were over him and that what had happened between you was an impulsive mistake was a complete waste of effort. The regretful loss tugging at your insides was never more potent than it was in that moment, as you continued to watch him from your hiding place. You still wanted him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Hoseok x Reader
> 
> Genre: Angst, Smut
> 
> Warning: Therapist!Hoseok, Shibari!Hoseok, therapist/client relationship, sexual themes, mentions of shibari and BDSM, profanity, alcohol.
> 
> A/N: The full contents of the Reader’s file are in Chapters 5 and 7, so I recommend refreshing on those prior to reading this chapter, as they aren’t fully recreated here. This chapter is very heavy on dialogue since it includes “the talk” we’ve all been waiting for. Hope you enjoy!

**[Hoseok’s POV]**

"Well, good afternoon, young man!"

The greeting compelled the tiny hairs on the back of Hoseok’s neck to stand to attention. His boots were immobile, anchored to the ground as he tried to process the salutation heard from the porch behind him.  _It isn't her_ , he thought with a long sigh, remembering that ___'s rental unit was attached to another tenant's and they shared the same porch. The clean escape he was hoping for was not going to occur, much to his disappointment.

The voice that greeted him was frail and feeble, aged by several decades of life and experience. Hoseok considered walking away and ignoring her completely, but the spin on his heels let him know his obligatory manners toward senior citizens would prevail once again, whether he wished to address the stranger or not.

A woman who looked to be about seventy shuffled her worn, discolored house shoes along her shared porch, peering at Hoseok through her large-rimmed bifocals. She took several moments studying him to confirm he was, indeed, the man she had been seeking.

 _This must be her neighbor_ , he concluded, offering the crook of his arm to assist the woman in her descent down the front steps.

"Good afternoon, miss—" Hoseok paused, hoping the woman would fully introduce herself.

Her freckled hand squeezed his arm as she planted her feet on the sidewalk. "I'm Ruby, dear. I live next door to ___."

"Jung Hoseok, pleased to meet you," he replied, trying to swallow down the nervousness over disclosing his name. He suspected his former client was still watching from the window and that anything he said would get back to her, so he focused his efforts on normalizing the interaction as much as possible.

Ruby adjusted her glasses. "I was hoping to catch you a couple weeks ago, but you stopped coming by here. I thought you two had broken up! What a relief."

Hoseok's stomach dropped like a hammer at the insinuation, compelling him to politely redirect as not to alarm her. "I'm sorry, but we're not in a courtship, ma'am."

"You’re not?" she questioned with a stunned countenance. "Well, that's too bad. That girl deserves someone special in her life."

"Yes, she does," Hoseok agreed, the corners of his mouth drooping.

Ruby carried on, shuffling her feet along to make soft scuffing sounds against the concrete. "I'm glad you're visiting ___. She's been moping around for a while and I wondered if something had happened with her job. She hasn't come out of the house much lately. I'm worried about her."

Hoseok knew the proper thing to do was ask ___ directly what had been going on, but it was clear Ruby hadn't done that. If she had, there would be no reason to ask a stranger, so it was more likely the nosy woman was trying to glean some juicy gossip.

"You must keep a keen eye on the neighborhood," he hinted with a disarming grin.

The woman took the bait, straightening her stance as she swelled with pride. "I'm president of the neighborhood watch, dear," she confirmed. "I know everything that goes on around here. By happy accident, I was heading outside to check on my begonias and here you are. You should visit more often and cheer up ___ like you used to!"

 _She probably assumes we're friends or colleagues_ , Hoseok concluded, navigating to find a way to end the conversation before it became more awkward. It was apparent to him that Ruby meant no ill will but was completely clueless as to the true nature of his relationship with her neighbor. He wanted to keep it that way.

"I’ll try my best, ma’am," he said, patting her reassuringly on the shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be running along. You take care of yourself now and keep a good eye on ___ for me."

Ruby smiled warmly, returning a lighthearted pat to Hoseok's back as if she had known him for years. "You too, young man. I know you'll take good care of her also."

Hoseok nodded and turned away to resume the brisk walk toward his car, his mind scrambling to shoot down the stinging hopes he could take care of ___ as much as he claimed he would.

* * *

 

**[Reader’s POV]**

Apprehension would have been a far less intense feeling than the one you experienced as you stood like a stone at your window by the front door, witnessing your former therapist converse with your neighbor moments ago.

Unable to muster up the courage to open the door and face him head-on, you felt the taunting jeer of cowardice hang heavily on your shoulders. Your peering eyes had settled on his conflicted face as he held your file in his hands. In anguish, you watched him hesitate on your porch, unsure how long to wait for you to answer the door before finally throwing in the towel and departing. The sound of the thick folder pushing through your mail slot and hitting the floor with a plop felt like the final death knell on your relationship, and you couldn't bring yourself to pick it up. Not yet anyway.

The last thing you had expected to hear was the swing of Ruby opening her front door. She truly had a gift for showing up at the most opportune moments, and you had been avoiding her for over a week, fearful she would pry into your personal business and ask why you hadn’t left your place for several days. How could you begin to explain that to her? It would feel silly and childish to divulge you had been crying and avoiding all social interactions because you threw yourself at your therapist and he grew a conscience. It would be petty to say you were still upset he left his jute ropes in your bathroom, but you were. Ruby might have a stroke if she learned what Hoseok had been doing with them, what he had been doing with you every Friday.

You continued to snoop from between the blinds, taking in the scene with slow, controlled breaths to calm the ache in your chest. Hoseok had been so quick to stop at the sound of Ruby's door opening. Watching that firsthand made you realize he thought the door was yours. Perhaps part of him held hope you would want to talk about what happened.

In any case, the moment had passed, and you knew it in your bones. It didn't feel right to open the door now, even though you wanted to know what Hoseok and Ruby were discussing. Your neighbor would never pass up an opportunity to exchange gossip, but you hoped Hoseok would respect your privacy and gently deflect her questions if she had any. You wanted to believe that he was still a kind person and would remain so, no matter what his personal feelings were about you now.

The longer you stood there, the more weakened you felt. Above all the mixed emotions that had tossed around in your head since he left, the prevailing feeling lingering in your chest was an unwavering yearning for him. You were kidding yourself if you thought it was anything other than that. Telling yourself day in and day out that you were over him and that what had happened between you was an impulsive mistake was a complete waste of effort. The regretful loss tugging at your insides was never more potent than it was in that moment, as you continued to watch him from your hiding place. You still wanted him.

It was a morose sensation, beholding his facial expressions ebb during the course of his conversation with Ruby. You wondered whether his downtrodden features were caused by whatever they were discussing, and you were curious if it involved you. Why else would he look that way, when he was naturally a charming and approachable person?  _Perhaps Ruby is telling him a sad story instead_ , you attempted to lie to yourself, only to see that supposition disintegrate to dust as Hoseok's eyes fell upon your window.

 _They are talking about me_. You sighed under the weight of the truth, wishing Hoseok didn't hate you as much as you hated yourself for not opening the door when you had a chance.

You watched as he closed the conversation with a gentle pat on your neighbor's shoulder. He turned away and walked toward his car, as your stomach filled with swirling sentiments of longing and relief. Ruby pivoted toward the porch, grinning ear-to-ear and nodding to herself as if mulling over something pleasant in her head. You wondered why she would be so cheerful, then assumed Hoseok must have said something kind to her before leaving. He was likely very caring in his parting words, whatever they had been.

Your eyes drifted toward the file on the floor and you expelled a breath that had been trapped in your lungs. Unsure how long the breath had been there, you could only surmise you were nervous of the information housed in the depths of the folder's contents. Bending down, you retrieved the file and held it to your chest, idly plucking the crisp, cardstock corners between your fingertips.

You couldn't shake the feeling there was something important in there, some clue to explain why you were in your current situation. You had expected Hoseok to finish the file within a few days, given that he had been so eager to leave after what transpired between you. But for some reason unknown to you, it had taken him much longer to complete your records than he said originally. Nearly three weeks had passed before he turned it over.

As you approached the kitchen table, you debated whether it would be better to delay opening the file and reading everything Hoseok had written. Was it foolish to wait and push back everything as he did, when he had taken so long to send it to you in the first place? Maybe he was conflicted or disgusted, and now there was a massive report inside the cardstock jacket naming all the reasons you could never have what you wanted. Could you handle reading something like that? Should you read the file at all?

"I'm being stupid about this," you muttered to yourself as you laid the folder on the table. "It's probably filled with a bunch of coded jargon I won't understand anyway. I'm delaying the inevitable for no reason."

The folder mocked you in silence from the table's surface and after several seconds pacing back and forth in front of it, you compromised.  _I can do this, but I can't do this sober._  You marched to the cabinet to pour yourself a small glass of bourbon—just enough to take the edge off and relax your anxious nerves. When your cheeks were warm with inebriation, you opened the folder and began to review the contents.

The first set of pages were familiar to you: the intake forms you had originally given Hoseok when you first hired him. It was strange to see them again, knowing your marked preferences and interests in Appendix A had become the road map for his skilled hands and practiced words to follow. You wondered whether your situation would have turned out differently if other choices had been marked instead. A sip of bourbon passed your lips, then you reminded yourself that the allure of Hoseok had more to do with  _his_ traits, rather than your responses on a sheet of paper.

Turning the pages over, you were met with another set of documents: his session notes, arranged chronologically by date. As you might have predicted, Hoseok was rather organized and thorough in his reports. He included a host of details such as how your week had been, which methods he had used during the session, which shibari ties were employed, which aftercare he administered. And at the bottom of each session report, he indicated whether his choices for the session and aftercare had been effective, presumably after checking in with you the following day or week.

Unsurprisingly, his notes were written with the confidence and assurance of a professional who had been in the business of evaluating and treating clients for years. The bulk of the notes were typed. On one hand, you were relieved because they were legible, but on the other hand, the words felt sterile and withdrawn. They lacked the intimacy the sessions had possessed. That much was clear.

Contrasting against the cold, black text, however, were markings in blue ink—Hoseok’s handwriting—looping in long strokes in the margins of the pages. The varying degrees of faded lines suggested he had first typed the notes, then made additions here or there after the fact. It was as if an idea had come to him while he was working on something else. That felt more like his way of doing things, at least the way you understood him.

Most of the handwritten notes were single words here and there you didn't recognize, with numbers written next to them: 15, 30, 60, 90. After finding “hogtie” on one of the pages, you deduced they were suggestions for shibari ties, with the corresponding measurements of rope needed to complete the task. A warm bloom grew in your chest as you persisted. Turning the pages, you witnessed the volume of blue inked notes increase over time as Hoseok pondered more ideas for ties to try on you.  _It's too bad it ended so soon_ , you thought, taking another sip from your glass.  _It would have been nice to have seen more._

Accompanying the session notes were a series of pages summarizing what Hoseok felt the root cause of your issues had been: overwork, stress, and a lack of proper outlets. Thankfully, they were areas you had previously discussed and felt you had mostly overcome, with his help. In the vast array of notes taken over the course of your sessions together, it looked as though you were approaching resolution; you were getting better, and rather quickly. The "no need for medical or psychiatric referral at this time" line in his notes made you feel immense relief, as it was your opinion on the situation as well.

 _Good, no surprises so far_ , you summarized, taking another drink from your glass. Nodding your head in agreement with his comments, you were feeling rather confident about yourself. Perhaps you were truly fine and didn't need help anymore, at least not urgently. The last few weeks alone on your sofa had been an eye-opening journey of self-examination, and although you went into it kicking and screaming, you didn't feel as weak as you had before. You supposed you had Hoseok to thank for that.

The last page of Hoseok's notes had been written recently, based on the fresh smears of printer ink found in a couple places on otherwise crisp, white paper. Your line of sight traced along every stretch of script like a laser burning holes into the words. You hoped that by closely examining his final entries, you would be able to understand why he left so suddenly.

> _Resigned verbally following incident. Last session became inappropriate as therapist/client line was crossed via sexual contact._

_Incident_ , you huffed, irritated that your consensual encounter had been reduced to so sterile a term. An incident sounded like something which needed to be expunged or swept under the rug. It was hardly your recollection of events, where Hoseok had been on his knees, urging you to come on his tongue. No, you distinctly remember wanting that to happen and you didn't regret it at all.

His subsequent words began to rise from the page more quickly than you could fully process them.

> _Transference suspected, still unconfirmed due to lack of formal evaluation. It appears client has developed romantic feelings, but the source of them remains unknown; may be product of highly stressful environmental factors._

The space between your eyebrows scrunched in defensive confusion. Hoseok suspected you had feelings for him, which was true, but he didn't know exactly why. He believed stress was the cause, as if your work situation had forced you to cling to whoever was around. You weren’t unfamiliar with transference, thanks to required introductory psychology classes from college. You knew what it was and couldn't disagree more with his speculations.

> _Countertransference suspicion intensified by knowledge the client is attracted to therapist, at least sexually, which was reciprocated…Ms. ___ may need additional assessment and continued treatment from a new therapist, if she elects. I am no longer in the right capacity to treat her as I remain attracted to her and would likely pursue further romantic involvement if contact continued. As such, I maintain that resignation is the best option. List of possible alternative therapists attached._

His words burned worse than the bourbon stinging your throat. "Likely pursue further romantic involvement?" you whispered aloud, your voice hoarse with anger.  _He should have just stayed then since that's what he wanted too!_

The page flipped over with an aggressive slap of your palm. If the suspicion of countertransference had been "intensified," then Hoseok knew he was attracted to you before the last session. Maybe that's what he meant when he said he should never have come to it; he must have already been slipping before then. He should have said something. Hell,  _you_  should have said something. Acknowledging those feelings and talking them out first would have saved you both a lot of anguish. The earlier anger over not opening the front door when Hoseok had been on the other side of it returned to your mind with a tempestuous resurgence.

Taking a deep breath, you resolved to press on and to read the attachments referenced in his notes. It was there in the back of the file that you discovered the true reason for Hoseok's long delay: a list of no less than ten potential replacements for him. The list was painful to behold, as he had included pages upon pages of email correspondence between him and other therapists, all who were more than willing to take you on as a patient. His selections were carefully considered, close to your home, and all ten specialized in the areas you had previously struggled with when Hoseok was working with you. Over half were well versed in work-life balance, according to their professional profiles which he had also included. It would have taken weeks to prepare such a list, and it hurt immensely—knowing he cared so much about your well-being as to prepare so exhaustive a parting gift.

 _I can't leave it like this_ , you realized. There were too many questions percolating in your mind, too many things left unsaid. You needed the closure of a final conversation, and you felt he owed you that much, given how scattered things were left.

You polished off your alcohol in one gulp, then grabbed your phone and rapidly rattled your thumbs against the illuminated screen.

> **[5:16] You:**  I read the file. Why didn't you just tell me you were attracted already? You could have saved us both a lot of pain, assuming you feel as shitty as I've felt lately.

_Maybe I should have opened with a greeting_ , you considered the moment after you sent the text. A couple of minutes passed before your phone beeped with a new notification.

> **[5:19] Hoseok:** I deserve that. I wanted to explain myself, but I didn't think it was right to encroach on you. I wasn't sure the best way to handle it.

Another minute passed, and he texted again.

> **[5:21] Hoseok:**  Did you read everything in the file?
> 
> **[5:21] You:**  Yes. And you left your ropes here. I know you say you don't want to encroach or whatever, but I don't want them here.
> 
> **[5:23] Hoseok:**  I did?

_Unbelievable,_  you huffed, cheeks flushed from the drink.  _How could he not know he left them?_ Your responses grew bolder as you struck the screen with harder taps.

> **[5:24] You:**  Yeah, you did. How do you not know that?
> 
> **[5:26] Hoseok:**  I haven't opened the bag since I left. Sorry, I didn't know.
> 
> **[5:26] You:**  I have a hard time believing that when you're so organized.

A low blow, but one you felt was deserved, as upset as you were sitting there, brimming with liquid courage.

> **[5:29] Hoseok:**  You could have just opened the door and gave them to me if you're that upset about it. I saw you in the blinds.

His text made your stomach drop as the wind of overconfidence was knocked out of your sails. Your lips were downturned into a frown and you decided he didn’t deserve a response. Several moments advanced as you rotated the empty glass in your hand, watching a tiny remnant of caramel-colored liquid collect in a tight corner.

The phone lit up with a loud chime that rang in your ears—Hoseok was calling. With burgeoning irritation, you answered the call, but refused to say anything.

His frustrated sigh was the first sound you heard. "I know you're there, ___. I can hear you huffing and puffing into the receiver—"

"If I had opened the door, would have even talked to me?" you interrupted, your tone laced with annoyance.

A long pause accompanied your words.

"You know I would have. I care about you," he answered. The slight strain in his voice was noticeable, weakened with burden. Hearing it in your ear again affected you more than you cared to admit.

"I gotta go," you said, tacking on a quick apology before ending the call to retreat to the comforts of your sofa once again.

* * *

 

The next morning you woke with a determination that you weren't going to let anything get in your way. You filled your day with distractions, a hearty protein-filled breakfast, and more job applications—anything to keep from reliving the goosebumps on your skin from hearing his voice on the phone the day before.

Caffeine helped you focus on getting back on your feet and rebuilding yourself following the events of the previous month. You had enough money saved to secure you through another couple of months, but it was imperative to find a way to make money, and soon.

The quest to find a replacement job had been less daunting than you anticipated, but with mixed results. In the last few weeks, your résumé had received positive feedback from prospective employers, even a couple phone interviews, but the only concrete offer that had been made was outside of your local area. The possibility of uprooting and having to start over in a new city was a consideration you should have reflected upon before quitting your job, but it was pointless to dwell on the decisions you should have made. Maybe you would take it, or maybe you would hold out and keep looking. You weren’t sure yet, but you didn’t have long to decide.

By mid-afternoon, your kitchen had been scrubbed head-to-toe and donned the refreshing lemon scent that never failed to put your mind at ease. You were gathering towels to start a load of laundry when your phone chimed with a new notification. The screen flashed his name and you swallowed down the fluttering sensations that tickled your stomach.

> **[4:18] Hoseok:**  I'm available today to come by and pick up the ropes. We can talk about the file if you want. Completely up to you.

_Doesn't he have to work today?_ you wondered, recalling that the bulk of his sessions took place in afternoons and evenings.

> **[4:21] You:**  Do you have clients today? I don't want to take up time if you have work. I can wait.
> 
> **[4:22] Hoseok:**  Do you not want me to come over?
> 
> **[4:23] Hoseok:**  I understand if you don't want to see me, but I would like the ropes back. They’re expensive to replace.

_I can handle this_ , you chanted in your head, knowing your answer would set into motion the last time you would likely ever see or talk to him. Your lungs felt like they were underwater as you typed out your response.

> **[4:25] You:**  What time?
> 
> **[4:25] Hoseok:**  I can be there in an hour. Is that okay?
> 
> **[4:26] You:**  That's fine.
> 
> **[4:26] Hoseok:**  I'll see you soon.

As you tucked your phone into your pocket, a sense of self-loathing brimmed to the surface as you recognized a familiar feeling: the excitement filling your cheeks at the prospect of seeing him again. It would have been preferable to feel hate or indifference, but the truth was that a part of you would likely never be over him. The weeks of separation had only dulled the initial shock of rejection. It had not, in fact, altered any of your feelings toward him or the situation. You suspected, or perhaps hoped, that the contents of the file sitting on your kitchen table were a sign that his affection was as constant as yours, and that the care he claimed to have for you on the phone was genuine.

* * *

 

Three knocks rapped on your front door an hour later and your stomach churned with nausea and anxious uncertainty. You peeked through the peephole, confirming it was Hoseok standing at your door and not your prying neighbor, Ruby. The hand which held your front door knob was hot and sticky with sweat, but you weren’t backing out this time.

Upon opening the door, you were greeted by the scent of sandalwood you had grown fond of since you met him. You anchored your feet to the floor as you felt it luring you in with a magnetic pull. Hoseok stood relaxed, with one hand tucked in the front pocket of his dark jeans, the other hand holding the same duffel bag you were no longer nervous to see. His black boots rocked gently against the cement floor of your porch, and you wished you could feel as calm as he looked. Tracing your line of sight up toward his face, you slowed to take in his arms and shoulders, housed in a black shirt as you remembered seeing so often. He looked almost exactly as he did during your first session many weeks ago, but seeing him again after all that had taken place between you felt surreal. You couldn’t name every feeling you were having in that moment, but the strongest of them made your mouth turn dry and your chest hum with a dull, draining ache.

He didn't smile, not fully anyway, but he offered a tranquil expression, pulling the corners of his mouth back slightly. He nodded his head once, as if to silently express his appreciation for you opening the door this time.

"Hey," he greeted, his tone less confident than you expected.

The pressure in your lungs lightened upon hearing his voice, and a deep exhale brushed by your lips. "Hi."

It was the only communication you could manage as passing thoughts drifted along in your mind, pulling you in different directions. He stood and waited a few moments, presumably to give you time to say more. You wondered if he was attempting to read your body language as he always had.

"I don't have to come in. I can just take the ropes and go," he offered carefully.

"No, no," you redirected hastily, sensing the awkwardness growing between you. "You can come in."

He nodded as you stepped aside and opened the door wider, granting entrance. His shoes carried him only a few feet into the entryway, to the spot he had left you weeks ago. He shifted his shoulders and neck, looking uncomfortable, and the noticeable quiet between you filled the room. Hoseok appeared expectant but polite, waiting for you to make the next move.

"I'll go get the ropes," you informed, turning away from him to retrieve the jute cords which were still piled in the floor of your hallway closet. They seemed heavier in your hands than you remembered, and you were relieved to be returning them.

"Here,” you said, handing over a crimson heap of ropes, messily gathered together. "Sorry, I didn't know how to tie them back like you had them."

"It's okay," he assured with a small chuckle, setting down his bag to examine the ropes.

Threading his thumbs into a few of the loops haphazardly, he commenced the tedious task of straightening the ropes to find one of the ends. As his dexterous fingers sifted through the chaos in his hands, his eyes softened as though he was welcoming back an old friend.

"I appreciate having these back," he murmured, grabbing one of the ends and dropping the rest of the bundle, allowing gravity to assist in unraveling the red cords. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," you replied quietly. Your eyes became affixed on his hands completing the chore of untying the knots, which proved too relaxing not to watch.

"I used to teach this," he said, grinning as if he was fondly recalling a prized piece of his past. "All the beautiful things one can create with rope, and the number one question I would be asked at workshops is how to bundle the ropes back when you’re done."

You observed his long, agile fingers trap the ropes, his hands bouncing playfully like a puppeteer making a marionette dance. As he moved, his thumbs hooked and looped the ropes in soft figure eights. Round and round his thumbs, the long red lines folded on themselves until only a few feet of free length remained. Then, grasping the bundled ends, Hoseok wound the dangling cord around the rope, forming a snug coil. He repeated the actions with the second and final rope, as you remained entranced by his hands at work, moving like waves on the sea.

"Do you miss it? Teaching shibari, I mean," you asked, continuing to watch him fold.

"Yeah, actually," he admitted. "It was easy with a partner to help demonstrate, but I don't have anyone right now, or I might have taken it up here."

"What happened to your last one?"

The corners of his lips wilted as he tucked the bound ropes into the duffel bag. "She cheated on me."

"Oh." You realized too late how intrusive of your question had been. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

"It happens," Hoseok replied with a small shrug of his shoulders.

Your mind swam erratically in the new revelation that Hoseok had previously been in a relationship. Of course, you assumed he had been in several, but the way his face shifted made you suspect he was still burdened by that particular one. There were so many questions you wanted to ask about his previous lover, but it was inappropriate to pry into something so personal, especially under the current circumstances.

Hoseok picked up his bag, awkwardly releasing a puff of breath. "I don't want to overstay my welcome or make this more awkward for either of us.” Extending his right hand, he made an offer to shake yours, like concluding a business arrangement. “I wish you the best in your life and your future career."

His words sounded sincere and you knew he was trying to be as polite and professional as possible, but it saddened you, seeing how he altered himself for you to feel comfortable. You took his hand and the smooth surface of his warm, taut skin reignited a sense of urgency within you.

 _No_. You didn’t want him to leave. Not yet. If it was going to be the last time you ever saw him, you wanted to savor every fleeting moment to the final drop. You wanted to ask him what he meant by "likely pursue" in your file. And where did the transference and countertransference notes come from? You couldn’t end it with so much unresolved.

"Can we talk?" you asked, unable to find the means to let his hand go.

His grip relaxed, but nonetheless remained attached. "If you want, we can."

Both your hands drifted away and you tried not to overthink when his fingertips dragged a moment longer than was necessary.

"It might take a while, is that okay? I don't want to waste your time," you explained, assuming he had to work later that night.

He gave a soft smile of reassurance. "It's not a waste, ___."

"I just mean I don't want to mess up your clients' appointments. You're working tonight, right?" you rambled, purposefully ignoring the blush at hearing him use your name.

"I don't have any clients currently."

_What?_

"You don't? What do you mean?" you pressed as gently as your surprise allowed.

Hoseok rubbed the back of his neck. "Eh, it's a long story, but rest assured, I have plenty of time. What would you like to discuss?"

You gave the answer you felt would be the least complicated. "My file, some of the things you wrote."

He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes cast over toward the folder laying on your kitchen table. Nibbling as he deliberated, he showed he was still apprehensive by the file's contents. But upon turning back to face your hopeful expression, he agreed. "I did say we could discuss it when I texted. "

Taking seats across from each other at your kitchen table, neither one of you appeared confident to the other. The impending conversation would be uncomfortable, as you expected, but you didn’t think the air would feel so thick. As you looked into his eyes to confirm he was ready to begin, you saw deep, dark pools of determination and felt he was resolved to answer your questions. Opening the file, you flipped through a few of the pages as if you needed a reminder on the questions burning in your mind. The sound of the shuffling papers made you relax a bit, but you knew the bulk of the anxious feelings would have to be swallowed down if you were to get any words out.

"I read over all your notes and eh, I don't know," you began, your voice sounding unrecognizable to you. "This feels weird asking, but the transference thing? I don't understand why this is here. It says I might need more evaluation."

Hoseok became unsettled, swallowing deeply. "Do you know what it is?"

"A redirection of feelings to something new, like having feelings from your past and displacing them on someone in the present," you recalled as best you could. "Isn't that a childhood thing usually? We never talked about how I grew up."

He took in a breath as he tried to formulate a careful explanation. "After our last session, I tried to determine why there was an attraction between us. It formed rather quickly, at least in my mind. Sometimes our past experiences can cause us to form bonds which are unhealthy or wouldn't occur naturally, if that makes sense."

As he continued, he leaned forward in his seat, easing back into his usual pattern of discourse. "It's possible there's a pain or attachment from the past we may try to reconcile, and we can download those feelings onto another person unintentionally. And it can happen in therapy. After some of our interactions, I wondered about it. I wrote that more evaluation was needed because we never talked about your past. We never got there."

"Why not?” you asked. “Isn't that one of the earlier discussions to have in therapy?"

"In traditional therapy, it can be," he acknowledged, tilting his head as he reclined back in his seat. "But when you hired me, my primary concern was adjusting your work-life balance and stress management. I wanted to get you to a place where you would be relaxed enough to face truths about yourself first. Only then was I going to unpack where those feelings came from."

 _He really thought it all out_ , you mused, standing from your seat to prepare two glasses of water, trying to sort through the information he had shared with you.

"It sounds like it would have been easier to just ask me if I was becoming attached to you," you remarked, handing him a glass of water and returning to your seat. "My childhood was nice. I wasn't trying to replace anyone with you. I just—you have a lot of traits I like. It was an accident."

Hoseok took a sip from his glass, then responded, "I couldn’t ask that outright, not with the roleplay we were doing. The rope work and the Master persona can create illusions in the mind of the client. Phrasing questions the wrong way can implant feelings that may not truly be there. The submissive party is under the power and suggestion of the dominant party, so to speak.”

“But in our case, the dominant party had developed feelings too. That's what the countertransference is referring to, right?”

He paused, sitting very still for a moment as he closed his eyes, then reopened them gradually. "Yes. I was already attracted to you before our last session."

“Why?" you blurted. "I mean, how did this happen?”

The directness of the question made Hoseok cough, then chuckle. "Well, it wasn't like I was setting out for this to happen, as I'm sure you weren't. As you said, it was an accident. It was like that for me too. I wrote the countertransference note because I wasn't sure if my previous relationship and how it ended was the reason I became attached to you so quickly. She was the last partner I tied, and I missed it. Shibari was a huge part of my life when I was with her.”

A sip of cool water slid down your throat. “Are you over her? I don’t want to sound insensitive, but no one wants to feel like a knock-off.”

His expression faded slightly. “I walked in on her with someone else. There’s no coming back from that, really. I wouldn’t insult you by trying to replicate what I had with her. I wasn’t in the best state of mind when I wrote the countertransference notes, but weeks have passed and now I honestly think it's less complicated than all that."

You scrunched your nose. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm lonely, ___," he confessed in a low voice. "I wanted someone in my life, and you have a lot of the qualities I'm attracted to in a partner."

"You mean the shibari?"

"That's just something you like. It's not what you  _are_  like as a person, which is just as important."

A noticeable blush settled in your cheeks upon hearing his words. Unsure how to respond, you maintained your gaze at him and kept your hand wrapped around the water glass.

Hoseok smiled at your reaction, crossing his arms. "I gave you a lot of thought when I was finishing your file up. I think you're a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. And you're self-reflective, even when it's painful. A lot of clients avoid examining the self, but it made working with you easier and I think it's how you're able to argue that you don't have transference. I'm inclined to agree, by the way, based on what you’re saying. Not that it's relevant now."

"Since I'm not your client anymore," you added.

"Right," he confirmed. "The ethical dilemma was solved, in a way, by my leaving. But it hurt you and I'm very sorry I left you like I did. It was wrong of me to act so abruptly, but at the time I didn't think I had the strength to say no to you. I didn't want something to happen that we might regret later."

"I was angry at you," you admitted. "I think part of me still is angry, but I’m choosing not to feed it. I understand your side of things a lot more after reading all this and talking to you. As much as it hurt, I understand why you left.” You paused as he took in your response. “I guess I’m adapting to the situation," you concluded.

"You've always adapted well to changing situations," he reminded. "It made you a good employee and I think it's why your managers took advantage of you, but still—it's a desirable quality because it gave you the strength to leave."

"Without a proper escape plan," you admitted, feeling embarrassed.

"Yes, without a proper escape plan," he laughed. "But you still improved your situation on your own. You were very brave to do that. You've shown that side in sessions too."

Quirked an eyebrow, you pressed. "Like when? I don't think I'm that way at all."

Hoseok protested with a gradual shake of his head. "I've had other clients who panicked in the ropes like you did that one time. Usually they let me go if that happens, and I understand why. It's not for everyone. But you trusted me, insofar as to let me maintain my work to help you. Facing fears like that is a rare attribute, especially when it would have been easier for you to leave."

"I didn't want to leave," you replied. Your hand began to rub your arm to relax you. "You always made me feel nice. Better, I guess."

"It was easier for me than it usually is," Hoseok remarked, resting his wrist on the edge of the table. "You're beautiful. And I don't just mean physically; I mean energy too. It's hard to explain, but I think you know what I mean when I say we're drawn to each other—" He paused while your chilled hand, which had been wrapped around your glass, landed on your cheek. The cool fingers patted the skin to stave off the cheerful expression threatening to surface.

"I'm sorry, am I being too direct?" he chuckled, aware of how affected you had become.

"No," you answered, half-muffled by your hand. "I just don't usually hear things like that from men in my kitchen."

"Oh, you have other suitors?" he jested. "Is that why Ruby's so keen on snooping? She thought we were seeing each other."

"Oh god," you whined, burying your face in your hands, causing Hoseok to laugh again.

"It's fine, ___. I let her down gently. She's worried about you, though."

"I know," you confirmed. "But how was I supposed to explain that I was crying over someone I couldn't have to begin with?"

His smile quickly waned, the corners of his lips dropping. He reached across the table and took your hand, squeezing it urgently. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you like that. Seeing you at Pika's nearly killed me, but there was nothing I could do to make you feel better after what I had done. I’ve been alone for a long time and there was so much to be attracted to. I was weak. I know that's no excuse. I know I fucked up and took advantage of your situation. I was selfish—”

"Stop," you interrupted, laying your hand over his. "Please, stop blaming yourself. Don't talk like you were the only one in control in that situation. I made a choice too, and I don't regret what happened. I wish you wouldn't regret it anymore, actually. It was something we both wanted, or at least in the file you wrote you wanted me."

Hoseok pressed his lips together as he gazed into your eyes, then responded. "You're right. I wanted you for myself."

“You  _wanted_ ," you stressed the word, "as in you don't anymore?”

He placed his remaining hand over yours and began stroking it tenderly with his thumb.

“I still want you,” he confessed, his voice as soft as his touch.

“I don't think it's wrong to admit that," you argued, softening your tone under his gentle caresses. “I don't think any of my feelings were born out of some hang-up from my past. I certainly don't think you put them there because I can live without you. You being my therapist doesn't invalidate my feelings. It doesn't change the fact that I still want that choice to say yes or no. You used to read me like a book all the time, Hoseok. You can probably read me now and tell the feelings I had for you are still there."

Hoseok frowned. "I don't think I should read you like that anymore, given the circumstances."

“There are no circumstances now," you rebutted. "You're not my therapist anymore and I want you to. I'm asking you to leave the past and see what's in front of you.”

Adjusting his hands to hold yours, left to left, right to right, he calmed his appearance. Instinctively, you squeezed his hands again, enjoying the warm and relaxed feeling his fingertips offered. His thumbs reciprocated the touch by brushing gently over your knuckles.

“You look well," he observed. "You're not like you were before. You're more assertive now."

A grin stretched across your features. “I am. I've done a lot of soul-searching and I know I'm only going to get over things if I work through them. I've been working through a lot since you left.”

Hoseok returned the pleasant expression with a smile of his own. “I'm really happy for you, ___.”

"I'm happier too, but it doesn't change how I feel when you hold my hands like this," you confessed, gripping him tighter. "I don't want to get over you. You said you still want me. I'm telling you I want the same. I don't want how we met to be the thing that keeps us from having what we want now.”

The dark pools of Hoseok's eyes washed over with emotive struggle. His Adam's apple bobbed in a deep swallow as he was confronted once again with the choice of saying yes or no to you. Unable—or unwilling—to release your hands from his, he searched your face to determine whether the choice he was about to make was the right one. The expectancy of his answer was a stifling smoke filling your throat, threatening to choke you. The only thing keeping you rooted were his thumbs, which continued to brush affectionately over the bends of your fingers.

He released one hand and you felt the drop in your stomach. It was over—or at least you thought it was—before he stood from his seat and his other hand abruptly pulled you from yours. As unsteady as your legs felt in that moment, you were sure the swift motion was setting you on a collision course with his chest or the table. He released your other hand and with shaking palms, cradled your face and pressed his lips to yours.

Your lungs felt like they were about to burst from the release of immeasurable energy, all the pressure that had mounted since he stepped foot into your life. The soft petals of his lips moved gradually, as if they were frightened to break the kiss away for fear the spell would be broken. The only action you could manage in the fervency of the moment was to press your body against his and wrap your arms around his neck, willing him to deepen the kiss and trust your connection to each other would remain steadfast.

His hands drifted to the small of your back as he pulled you closer, igniting a flame you hadn't felt in weeks. You had missed this, missed him, and the revelation that you were finally going to have him—without obstacles and without restraint—overwhelmed your senses. The fervor of your hunger for one another intensified, until the brushes of your lips against his own were punctuated by the slip of his tongue, hot with insatiable inclination. The tips of his fingers crawled slowly under the edge of your blouse as your nails scratched his scalp. Your core ached, throbbing with a call for aid that echoed the tent in his jeans pressing decidedly against your body.

"Don't leave again," you pleaded, breaking away just long enough to communicate your urging.

"I'm not leaving," he intimated against your lips with a rasp in his voice.

“Good. You made me cry last time—”

"I'll make it up to you," he hurriedly promised.

His words were the last straw to break down your fears and allow you to surrender, moaning into his kiss. He felt you melt into him, dragging his open palms over the curve of your ass, then briskly pulled your body up from the floor. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you clung to him ardently, unable to quiet the fireworks bursting in your chest. As he carried you down the hallway, the sound of his boots rapping against the floor filled your ears. Your thoughts drifted hazily with lust and anticipation for what was to come.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Hoseok consummate your feelings for each other and discuss your futures.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _"What does all this mean?" you murmured, too nervous to ask at a standard volume. Hoseok's body grew tense, so you continued to explain. "I'm enjoying this with you so much, but I don't want to get confused about what this was—what we are, I mean. Does that make sense? I don't want to open myself up to more hurt without knowing what you want to happen next."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Hoseok x Reader
> 
> Genre: Smut
> 
> Warning: Shibari!Hoseok, sexual themes, BDSM, roleplay, shibari, blowjob, oral sex, edging, tantric sex, rough sex, creampie, squirting, profanity
> 
> A/N: This jumps right into things so you had better clutch your pearls and brace yourselves.

"Hm, you got new sheets," Hoseok commented in an intrigued tone. Resting your back on the cerulean plush of your recently purchased duvet, he moved swiftly to connect his lips to the crook of your neck. Your bedroom blurred as your sight drifted hazily between self-control and a full surrender to the man on top of you.

Your nipples grew stiff as his tongue graced the most sensitive spot beneath your earlobe, and your hands scrambled to discard your shirt as swiftly as possible. "I've changed some things since you were here last," you remarked.

"Do you really like this blue color?" he inquired in your ear, before trapping the soft flesh of your earlobe between his teeth.

"Y-yes," you stammered, overwhelmed by the attention he was paying to your favorite erogenous zone. "It's pretty. I like it a lot."

Lifting your back from the mattress to unfasten the clasp of your bra, he muttered, "It's too bad it's going to get ruined."

"Oh, we're that confident, are we?" you challenged him playfully. "Is Master going to make an appearance?"

Hoseok chuckled, setting goosebumps alight on your skin with his breath. "Do you want him to?"

“Will he take care of me as well as you?”

“I’m going to worship you regardless of the role, but I want this to be what  _you_  want.” His tongue lapped at your pulse point, compelling you to gasp.

“I have a lot of wants,” you admitted.

“We have plenty of time.”

“Then yes," you answered, rolling your pelvis against the erection trapped in his dark jeans. “I want Master to take  _good_  care of me.”

He groaned from the back of his throat, unzipping your pants and opening them just enough to dip his fingers inside your panties. As the searching pads of his fingertips brushed against your sex, you felt how quickly your body had prepared itself, coating your folds with slick arousal.

The sensation of feeling his touch again pulled your back from the mattress as you reconnected with his lips, savoring the taste. Your bare chest trembled under his movements, your body thrumming hungrily for him as you rocked into his steady hand.

"Did you miss your Master between your legs?" he murmured knowingly, wrapping his arm around your body to pull you to the edge of the bed. Your knees spread apart as you pressed into your hands, trying to steady yourself from the lightheaded feeling intoxicating your senses. Your head bobbed affirmatively, your eyes fluttered closed.

"Tell me, pet," he teased with a twist of his finger against your clit. “What would you like first?”

"I want to suck you off," you confessed in a whisper, unable to open your eyes.

"Oh?" The inflection in his tone communicated his interest. Withdrawing his hand from your body, he shrugged off his black shirt and commenced unbuttoning his jeans and removing his boots. "How?"

"Kneeling at Master's feet," you proposed, watching as he kicked his pants aside impatiently.

His hand grabbed his dick over his boxers as he sized you up behind hooded lids.

"Take off your pants and underwear first. I want you to touch yourself while you do it. Slowly."

The instructions pierced your core and you scrambled off the bed and shuffled out of the rest of your clothes to comply with his request. Hoseok grabbed a pillow and began to walk backward until his back rested against your bedroom wall. He dropped the soft plush at his feet and your face beamed.

"How thoughtful," you teased lightly, internally grateful he was considerate of your knees which were about to be pressed against the cold, hard floor.

Hoseok gave no reply, snapping his fingers sharply instead. The sound cut through the air and you felt your nipples ache at the sound, mentally reminding yourself that he knew your weakness for certain auditory stimuli, almost better than you knew yourself. Pointing his finger at the pillow, he silently coaxed you to your knees.

As you knelt before him, beholding the growing need trapped in his boxers, you felt a keen sense of determination to sate him, to service him as you felt he deserved for all he had given you. You meant to repay him in the most salacious way possible, and the anticipation to perform was making you wet—wet enough to fear it may run down your inner thigh before it was all over.

His fingers carded through your hair with tenderness and affection, but his words as he released his cock from his boxers were less so. "Get to it."

The shaft was rigid with impatience, the head swollen and already leaking a small, translucent pearl. Your heart filled with pride at the sight, the evidence of your effect on him this early. Poking out your tongue and softening your gaze, you gave a delicate kitten lick against the sensitive tip. As you pulled the pearl into your mouth, you batted your lashes to hold his attention.

He cleared his throat, examining the tease intently, then grabbed your hair in his fist and clenched it, tugging gradually at the scalp. The sensation of him taking control made your eyes close in capitulation as you loosened your jaw, offering him the space to rest his cock on your tongue. The little taste buds welcomed the underside of his shaft with a wide sweep, and you felt his dick twitch at the feeling. Amusement swelled in your chest. You were going to ruin him, and he didn't even know it yet.

Wrapping your lips around his head, you began to suck lightly, luring him into a false sense of security, like a moth to the flame. You fell back into old techniques you had learned over the last several years of previous encounters. Giving head was a skill you had mastered, and as you knelt at the feet of a man you finally felt was worthy of it, you summoned every ounce of self-control to keep from smiling.

As you continued to sink and suck simultaneously, you pulled him further into your web. His grip on your hair loosened as he angled his waist to jut out further from the wall. Closing his eyelids, he leaned his head back and rested it against the hard surface as you began to bob your head slowly.

Inching your fingers between your legs as he instructed, you found your folds sopping and eagerly awaiting a release of pressure. You encircled your small bundle of nerves with a delicate touch, drawing out your pleasure as you hummed around Hoseok's length. His hand returned to your hair and pushed aside a few loose strands from your face. You softened your gaze and looked up at him like a lost puppy, slowing your pace as you inched further along his shaft. With each pass, you stiffened your tongue against his frenulum and sucked a pulsating pressure around his head.

You could hear the sound of his breathing shift above you. "You think I haven't noticed you’re taking me in hands-free," he commented with a small smirk. "You can take more, can't you? You're teasing me."

 _Busted_ , you thought with a chuckle. You answered his allegation by withdrawing fully and planting a chaste kiss on the end of his dick, then relaxed your jaw and took him back into your mouth until his cock reached the back of your throat. Your nose pressed against his pubic hairs and you offered a deliberate swallow around him.

"Ah, fuck," he groaned with a voice that communicated he was slipping, losing control of himself. His fingers threaded into your hair and your throat contracted around him again, pushing him further to the brink. Labored breaths escaped his lungs and the sound of him crumbling made your clit ache for more. Your fingers increased their pace and you entertained the thought of coming first, but you knew he was unraveling quickly. For a man who was a master of control, he was in short supply of it, as demonstrated by the low noises of pleasure that persisted to slip off his tongue each time you tightened your throat around his cock.

"You should stop or I'll come down your throat," he warned. The consideration of his warning made you feel warm inside, but you were resolved to give him more than he could withstand.

His glans popped from your mouth and you took his length in your hands, pumping moderately as you continued to touch yourself.

"I don't want to stop," you replied with a slight twist of your wrist.

Hoseok released a heavy sigh in adoration. "Can I use you however I want?"

"You mean face-fucking?" you clarified with a giggle. "It would be my pleasure, Master."

He grunted, "Wait until I get you on that bed, pet. You'll cry before I'm done with you."

"Good," you smarted off, letting the tip of his length be enveloped by your lips again.

"Stop touching yourself," he commanded, planting his palms on both sides of your head. You removed your fingers from your sex and snaked your hands up his thighs. As you reached his waist, you relaxed your throat again as you felt him slowly rock his hips toward your face. You controlled your breathing, taking in air as best you could. Intensely focused on his pleasure, you dragged the tips of your nails against his skin, coaxing him to give you just a little bit more. The broken sounds sneaking between his panting breaths were making you wetter by the second. But you had to wait. You were happy to wait, especially as you saw his face twist the moment his eyes fell on your feigned innocent expression.

"God, you're so good," he whispered through gritted teeth, rubbing your hair with soft caresses as he shoved himself deeper. His length continued to receive purposeful massages from your tongue with each pass, and you knew he was approaching his end quickly by the way his lips parted as he closed his eyes.

His breath accelerated as he drew closer, so you pressed your nose to his flesh again, taking every last inch, and swallowed around his shaft once more. He responded with a low grunt and grabbed your hair with two fists.

The sting of it made your eyes prickle with tears, but you loved seeing him lose control. With a few more frantic thrusts into your mouth, he came, muttering praises as his skull rested against the cold wall behind him. You hummed as his pleasure drew to a close, then swallowed his emission down in one gulp, patting your hands reassuringly on his thighs to communicate you were just as pleased as he was.

“Wow.” Hoseok took a deep breath and wiped his face as if he was trying to pull himself back into the present. "Thank you."

You laughed, resting back on your ankles. "You thank people for that?"

"When they let me do what you just did, absolutely," he answered. "Do you not like praise?"

"Oh, I love it," you replied. "I'm just not used to blowing someone who's appreciative."

"I haven't shown my appreciation yet," he hinted, making a flush rise in your cheeks. "Would you like to be tied up?"

A wide grin told him your answer, and his eyes lit up with excitement. Retrieving his boxers and slipping them back on, he instructed, "Don't move. I don't want you to feel tempted to touch yourself while I step out."

"I can't give myself a helping hand?" you pouted.

"No," he spoke firmly. "Your pleasure is my responsibility—unless you want me to leave—"

"I'll wait," you replied too quickly.

Chuckling, he left you kneeling on your pillow. An apprehension crept into your mind that the tickling sensation between your legs was your arousal dripping onto the plush beneath you. You lifted yourself back up on your knees until you heard the sound of Hoseok returning, ropes in hand.

"Get on the bed," he directed, unraveling two large bundles of crimson cord, leaving one to pile onto a heap on the floor. You climbed onto your new duvet and sat upright, waiting for the next set of instructions with a fluttering excitement in your belly.

Hoseok smiled at his willing participant, then picked up the pillow from the floor and tossed it on the bed. He ran his hands along the ropes as he examined you with keen interest.

"Lie down and spread your legs for me."

He stepped to the foot of the bed and made a "tsk" as he spotted a shining line tracing down your inner thigh: the trail of your essence which had begun to drip down your leg. His finger swept along its surface, collecting the droplets, then he popped the wet finger into his mouth, staring at you hungrily with an ever-darkening stare. You tried to remember the last time you encountered a partner so bold, but no names or faces came into view. The only thing you sensed in your consciousness at that moment was exposure, being completely bare and spread before him.

With eager focus, you watched him prepare the first tie. Hoseok folded the first rope down the middle and took the folded loop and began to wrap it around your ankle. Once, twice, three times.

"Remember when we were in the bathroom," he began, checking the ropes for tightness, "and you wouldn't open your legs for me at first?"

Images of Hoseok's face buried between your legs began to flood your memories.

"How could I forget?" you replied. "Are you tying me to make sure I can't hide from your tongue this time?"

Hoseok paused his tying and raised an eyebrow. "Who said I was going to eat you out?"

Your face sank into a sullen expression, causing him to bellow in laughter. He bent to the floor and tied the rope to the leg of the bed, then moved to the opposite edge of the mattress.

"I'm kidding, I'm definitely going there again. I just wanted to see your face. It must be important to you."

Narrowing your eyes and pursing your lips playfully, you pouted at being poked fun of in so defenseless a position. Hoseok was binding your limbs at a quick pace as if he was working under a timer. You looked down at your ankle and saw him finishing off a large knot, the last of the two binding you to the bed. The knots lacked the decorative splendor you had expected from a master practitioner.

"Hey, aren't those ties a little simple for your taste?"

He poked his tongue against his cheek, appearing to take offense. "Try to move."

You thought a quick jerk would be sufficient to free you from the bonds, but your leg recoiled as hard as you tried to pull it away. The jute scratched your skin and you realized rather quickly that struggling could leave unpleasant marks.

"Fair enough," you conceded.

Hoseok walked up the side of the bed and tucked a pillow under the small of your back, then pressed on your shoulder to ease your body into lying down properly.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

"Y-yes," you answered, starting to feel slightly nervous by the lack of movement. "Are you going to tie my wrists too?"

"Rope burn is harder to cover up on your wrists," he said. "Plus, you can grab onto things as you please."

Hoseok returned to the foot of the bed and began to crawl into position between your thighs. The last time he had been there felt hurried and desperate, almost careless, at least to you. But in that moment, you felt the anticipation of every ounce of preparation he had put into the impending act, from the utility of the tie, down to the placement of the pillow for support. The degree of care made your hair stand on end, but the calculated look in his deep, coffee-colored pools offered a sense of security. You could trust him.

You rested your head against the mattress and tried to calm yourself to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. His breath wafted slowly against your sex and your ache for him renewed in full force. It was impossible to lift up and look at him further, for fear that seeing his dark eyes piercing yours from that angle would surely end you.

The first swipe of his tongue was gradual, like brushing the first, careful stroke on a primed canvas. It was a test, a calculation to gauge your reaction to his touch returning to your most vulnerable place. A low whimper released from your lungs and you were thankful your hands were left free to wander on their own. A couple fingers drifted to grace the smile forming across your features, while your other hand rested on your abdomen to ride alongside your panting breaths.

His tongue grew bolder in pressure but retained its relaxed pace with recurring laps. Every touch, every tease communicated that he meant to take his time with you, to ensure that every pleasure was savored to the last drop. His fingers inched up your thighs, transmuting your soft skin to gooseflesh. Your hips shifted as the pressure within your core began to mount. The petals of his lips wrapped around your sensitive clit and began to suck tenderly, kindling your nerve endings until your vision blurred.

"Hoseok," you moaned, half-muffled by the hand next to your mouth.

He hummed with a smile against your folds, then kneaded your thighs possessively as he resumed his efforts, dipping his tongue inside you to collect the nectar with his taste buds. The tension in your belly began to coil quickly, and you knew the moment he moved to suck your clit again, you would erupt. As his skillful lips wrapped around it, your back arched against the pillow and you began to pant repetitively. So close...

But Hoseok pulled away, rubbing his lips together with a smile that enlightened you. You weren't going to have it so easy.

"You're edging me?" you asked in alarm, feeling your sought-after peak of pleasure slip away.

"Mhm," he confirmed, wiping his bottom lip with his thumb.

Posing the next question more carefully, you inquired, "How many times, Master?"

"Until I'm satisfied," he put bluntly. "You'll thank me."

Heaving a sigh, you accepted that your only choice while bound in the ropes was to do what he wanted. You scooted your hips closer to him, signaling that you were willing to continue his game. His next attempt was more eager, an unrelenting onslaught of his tongue against your sex. Your ankles buckled against the ropes and you could hear them rubbing against the corners of your mattress. The prodigious pursuit of your orgasm was his focus, and you were prey caught in his trap with no means of escape.

Heaving breaths quickened in your lungs and you hoped he wouldn't be able to read how close you were—but he did, backing away a second time with an air of satisfaction.

"You're enjoying this," you accused, brushing hair from your face.

Hoseok cooed, "And you're not?"

The slip of his fingers into your heat for the first time compelled your back to arch from the mattress and you moaned in wantonness. Your hand reached for him, interlacing with his hair as he wrapped his lips around your swollen bud once more and tenderly pulled it toward his tongue.

"Please," you begged, too far gone to feel shame for the way your hips began to rock against his face. Determined to chase your high with or without him, you grabbed your breast and squeezed it, trying to summon as much stimulation as possible to push you over at last.

Hoseok withdrew a third time, batting your hand away playfully as you groaned in frustration.

"Come on!"

He responded by blowing a cool breeze between your legs, the chill of which pushed you away from the edge more quickly. "Is that any way to speak to your Master?"

"I want to come so badly," you whined, your eyes awash with tears from his teasing. "You're enjoying this at my expense."

Plunging his fingers again, he hushed your protests as the twist of pleasure coiled in your stomach.

"Do you think I won't take care of you?" he questioned, punctuating with a curl of his digits.

"I-I know you will," you stammered, squeezing your eyes shut, hoping he would follow through this time.

He pressed his thumb to your clit. "I'm going to make you come more than just this once, ___."

Your face grew hot at the mention of your name. "Please make me come," you urged, tugging at the hair from your scalp as the room started to spin.

"You'll come on my tongue again?" he teased, kissing your inner thighs with sweet pecks while maintaining undulating fingers inside you.

"Yes! God, please—"

The words you tried to speak were cut off by the swift reconnection of his tongue to your clit. He flattened his muscle and traced it along your folds, pressing against your flesh to encourage it to swell and become increasingly sensitive. His fingers refocused their efforts to offer a gradual "come hither" brush against your walls. The moment he pressed an open kiss to your clit one last time, he sucked in a pulsing rhythm. Your fingernails dug into the bed sheets beneath you as your vision became lost in a sea of pursuit.

"Thank you, thank you," you chanted, feeling your core clench around his fingers. A wave of euphoria ensnared your senses as your body released the tension that had been waxing and waning under his efforts. His tongue greeted the depths of your folds with adoration, mercifully lapping every exposed inch as though it was of paramount importance to collect all you offered him.

"I missed you so much," he confessed, pressing his lips against your most private places, coaxing your body to calm itself.

A tug in your chest persuaded you to wipe your eyes and the words drifted from your lips. "I missed you too."

Hoseok beamed as he wiped his chin, standing to begin the task of untying your ankles. As the ropes loosened and your legs felt the freedom of unrestricted movement once more, he asked, "Would you like a chest harness for the rest?"

"Oh, there's more?" You raised an eyebrow and pretended to appear surprised.

"I have an idea if you're up for it," he replied, running his veined hands along the ropes to straighten out the kinks. "Have you ever had tantric sex before?"

"I can't say I have," you admitted. "Isn't it just slower, like really slow?"

Hoseok laughed, "It's slower, yes, but more intimate. It can create a strong mind-body connection with your partner that can lead to long-lasting orgasms. And it goes well with shibari, so I thought I'd offer it. It’s quite powerful.”

“Powerful, how? Are you sure I can do this?”

“It can move your mind into another plane, like a natural high. I’m sure you can do this because you’ve already done something similar before with subspace.”

Your memory hearkened back to the session with ropes binding your lower limbs, your pillow tucked between them. Crossing your legs under yourself, you began to feel a bit apprehensive. "Okay, we can try it. I don't know if I'll be good at it, though. I don't know how."

"Tantric sex isn't about performance. It's about connection," he explained, motioning for you to stand so he could begin the tie.

The sound of the ropes passing through his palms seeped into your ears as your shoulders fell into a state of deep relaxation. Your bare body anticipated the tie to come like a long-awaited weekend.

He took the center loop of the rope and pressed it to the midpoint of your spine, then wound two red cords above your breasts, looping them through the bend. Once the ends of the cords pulled through, the bindings hugged you securely.

"I'll tie a simple one that's comfortable for you, so you can be in it longer," he informed in a mellow voice.

"I trust you," you muttered, closing your eyes as the cords passed beneath your breasts and looped back through the center knot forming at your spine.

Hoseok rotated your body so you could face him. The countenance painted across his features was one of jubilation, but he pressed his lips together to try to contain it. Drawing the ropes over your right shoulder, he placed them along the center of your chest, slipping the ends beneath the ropes under your breasts.

Tucking his fingers between the cords to examine for tightness, he checked in with you. "How are we doing so far?"

"I'm excited," you admitted, failing to conceal your own smile.

Hoseok leaned forward to offer a chaste kiss, but the moment your lips reconnected, the pull between you both magnetized and it was difficult to tear yourself away. You wanted to touch him again, to express how much you desired him. The moment your hand met his shoulder, he hummed against your mouth and pulled away.

"Mm, you're a distraction," he scolded playfully, grinning as he threaded the ropes around themselves to make a decorative twist between the swells of your breasts.

"Is that a problem?" you teased.

He chuckled. "Give me two minutes to finish this and then you can distract me all you want."

Nodding in acceptance, you allowed him to drape the ropes over your left shoulder and move behind you to finish. He tested the tightness of the cords in a few places, then finished off the tie with a large, multi-tiered knot at the center of your back.

When the knot was completed, you turned to face him again and playfully tucked your forefinger in the waistband of his boxers.

"Will you take these back off for me?" you proposed in a saccharine voice.

Hoseok slid the fabric down his legs and moved to dim your bedroom light. He offered no words of transition, instead climbing onto your bed and sitting cross-legged. As he sat there, you noticed how relaxed he looked. Nakedness had no bearing on how he carried himself. It was natural for him, and the ease with which he summoned you with his open handmade warmth bloom in your chest. Accepting his welcoming fingertips, you willed yourself to him and his plans, moving to straddle his legs and sit on his lap.

"Cross your legs behind me," he instructed with a gentle tap against your calves.

You moved your legs and pressed your calves against his lower spine, bringing your body closer to his. "Is this okay?"

"Mhm," he responded, bracing his hands around your waist to steady you. "Comfortable?”

"Very," you assured with a pleasant expression.

He released his hold on you and pressed his hands into the mattress beneath him. “Good. Now, I’d like for you to breathe slowly. When you inhale, breathe in from your pelvic floor and focus on carrying that breath to the top of your head.” He demonstrated with an upward lift of his hand. “When you exhale,” he continued, leaning his head back, “release your breath into the sky in a steady flow of air.”

“Is that it?”

A chuckle slipped from his lips. “For now, yes. I’ll do the rest. It helps if you close your eyes while you do it.”

You took a deep breath and felt determined to follow his instructions. Resting your hands in your lap, the air in your lungs calmed to a gentle breeze, filling the space between you. The lids of your eyes closed, ushering the task. As you took air into your lungs, you heard him breathe in along with you. Your belly grew, stretching with the intake until you felt you could take no more. Then, angling the tip of your chin toward the ceiling, you released the breath as he taught you. He timed his exhalation together with yours, blowing a strong puff that assured you of one thing: you were where you wanted to be, rooted like an oak tree.

“Good, again,” he whispered.

Another breath in, another out. Then he wrapped his arms around your lower back. You expected the pace to pick up, for him to grab you, but he simply held you steady and continued to breathe long, unwavering gusts of air. As you continued to breathe together, time began to slow. The room grew quiet as the shared breaths between you felt less forced, more natural. You felt like you were gaining energy from the exercise, becoming more and more alive with each turn. You couldn’t see Hoseok, but you could feel him—really  _feel_  his presence in the room. Your bodies seemed closer, though they had barely moved, and you began to understand the power he had talked about.

After an indeterminable amount of time, he eased into the next activity. “Look at me.”

His instructions were delivered in a tender tone one would use with a lover, yet they rang powerfully in your ears, cutting to the center of your body. Your eyelids lifted and you were met with the warm gaze of his umber eyes, pulling you in with each breath. His eyes shifted as he looked at your left eye, then your right, then back to your left. It was as though he meant to take in as much of your gaze as possible. Likewise, you couldn’t bear the thought of blinking and breaking the connection as it grew in intensity between you. His face was at ease and full of self-assurance, yet the windows to his soul were youthful and exuberant. They were incredible to behold and you were freely drowning yourself in them.

His left hand lifted and took yours, then placed your open palm against his bare chest, over his heart. The skin was inviting like a fresh cup of coffee, awakening the senses, and the way his breathing shifted under your touch let you know he was as affected as you were. Following suit, he pressed his warm hand against your chest, brushing his thumb along the red rope next to your heartbeat. His touch felt secure against your body, as though it was communicating complete adoration. Your skin reacted with each trace, sparking the surface as your hairs stood on edge.

The interactions between you both were minuscule, yet the sensation was overwhelming for you as you reflected on the lovers who had preceded him. Past encounters with other partners had often been races to the finish. Every expedited touch served to propel you or the other to orgasm, and that worked for you for the most part, if the man knew what he was doing. Your past hookups were intimate—at least you thought—since you were having sex with someone.

But in that moment with Hoseok, with your hand pressed to his heart and his to yours, you realized that sex and intimacy were not always related. They could exist outside of each other and be experienced separately, with enough intensity to make you question everything that had come before. He was barely touching you, yet you had never felt closer to another person in your life. And the newfound discovery left you awestruck, as your palm pulled in the thumps from his chest. You wondered if the ones being absorbed by his hand were beating as quickly, or with more urgency. Was your heart calling out in even tones? Was it racing? What thoughts were traversing his mind in that moment? Were you doing this correctly?

"Don't be nervous," he whispered, brushing his thumb affectionately against your bare skin.

Slightly embarrassed at being caught, you questioned, "How do you know I'm nervous?"

A soft smile graced his features. "You weren't at first, but now you are. Your heart rate told me. Everything’s okay, ___."

"I feel really naked," you confessed in a small voice.

He placed his left hand on your thigh with a delicate touch. "You've been naked before. You don't have to be nervous with me now."

"I'm trying," you replied. "I don't want to do it wrong."

He considered your statement. "Have you ever felt vulnerable with a partner before?"

"Not like this," you answered. "You're barely touching me, but I feel like you can see and read everything."

The right hand on your chest moved to meet the side of your face, his thumb greeting the apple of your cheek with a loving caress. It grounded you, making you feel calm and at ease. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then let his fingertips drift to graze the base of your neck.

Taking your hand off his chest and moving it to his cheek, he replied, "I see you." He turned his head to kiss your palm, then the edge of your wrist. The gesture was subtle and affectionate, but it left a profound impression on you. Moved by his actions, you wrapped your arm around his neck and pulled him toward you, reconnecting with his lips. The kiss was alluring and restorative, replenishing your confidence as you felt his arms envelop your body, bringing you closer until your breasts tickled his skin.

Hoseok hummed against your lips and your legs tightened around his back as you savored the closeness of flesh against flesh. His tongue licked against the seal of your mouth, seeking entrance, and your defenses began to crumble as you became utterly lost in his taste. The chemistry was tangible, electrifying every inch of your body. You were burning for him, from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes, unable to escape his pull.

He grew insatiable with each passing moment, incapable of restraint as his fingers traced along your crimson ropes to knead eagerly at your breast. The cords scratched against your skin and you relished the scorch from them, letting your head cloud with hopes of being consumed by the flames. Water filled your eyes as his erection resurfaced, pressing against your core and summoning an ache within you that was all-encompassing and demanding of full control.

"Hoseok, I—" you stammered, overcome by the drag of his teeth along your neck's most sensitive spot.

"Hm?" he murmured, pulling back to redirect his attention.

"I don't have condoms here."

He made a low sound of disappointment. "Me neither. I don't carry them because I haven't been with anyone since my ex. Fuck," he huffed, resting his forehead on your shoulder. His breath blew over your skin and your mind, erratic with lust, refused to abandon the prospect of having him at last.

"I got tested a couple months ago and I haven't been with anyone since then," you said. "I don't have anything. Would it be okay if we don't use them?"

You felt his dick twitch beneath you, and he groaned, "Please ignore that," before wiping the side of his cheek as he tried to clear his head. "I got tested after my ex cheated. I'm negative too."

Your shoulders relaxed. "That's a relief."

"Are you on birth control? I can pull out but," he sighed longingly, "I'd feel better about this if you were on something."

Lifting your arm, you tapped your finger against the skin a few inches above your elbow. "Implant. Got two more years on it."

He nodded quickly, satisfied with your answer. "Good, I was worried I was going to have to leave here hard again."

A chuckle arose from your lungs. "You could have come on me, if you like that better."

His pupils darkened and he gripped the curve of your ass with firm, resolute hands, pulling your waist closer to his length. "I'd rather fill you up instead."

"Ah, please," you purred, crashing into his lips as the ache between your legs reached new heights. Your hands tore at each other’s flesh in wild abandon as the urgency to connect your bodies became too clear. You frantically reached for his dick as his fingers slipped between your folds to find them sopping wet.

"Fuck," he groaned against your neck. "I'm gonna make you feel so good."

Your voice trembled. "I know you will. I can’t wait anymore."

You raised your hips and aligned the head of his cock at your entrance, then eased him into your heat until he was fully sheathed. He expelled a long-held breath as your legs wrapped around his back once again. The palms of his hands braced against your ass and pressed down in earnest, ensuring he was as deep inside of you as physically possible. Your walls clenched at his extra effort, and he made a low hum of approval as he gave your flesh a squeeze.

Feeling his intrusion summoned a series of intoxicating thoughts in your mind, and you clung to his neck, unwilling to move. You wanted to make a memory, to remember how good it felt to connect with someone at that level of intensity. It felt as though Hoseok was experiencing the same feelings, as he refused to move his waist and instead laced his fingertips into your hair and offered a nurturing tug at your roots.

Leaning into your ear, he whispered in an uneven voice, "Thank you for opening the door and letting me back in."

A prickly pain stung your throat and your eyes filled with emotion again. "Thank you for coming back."

His fingertips massaged your scalp and your head began to swim. "I'll always come back for you, ___."

A tear rolled down your cheek. Unable to respond out of fear your tears would persist, you hugged his neck and gradually rolled your hips against his. He didn't press the communication, but returned to planting soft kisses on your neck. Your breasts felt the warm return of his palms, and you surrendered to the feeling with a sweet moan that stirred him to further action. The long fingers which had been your constant companion during your sessions together were now gracing your nipples with measured teases and tugs. His tongue caressed them with worshipful circles before pulling them into his mouth with a tender suck that made his name tumble from your lips.

The affectionate exchange was challenged by the increasingly focused drags and drops of your hips to further coat his length. He noticed your adjustment in pacing, choosing to press against your ass with each slow roll of your body to ensure the tip of his head reached the farthest depths. Despite the gradual pace, you found yourself more and more affected by the passion of his thrusts into your walls. Moans emitted from the back of your throat, echoed by the controlled pants rolling off his tongue. It was clear he was deeply absorbed with prioritizing your pleasure, adjusting at every interval you did to ardently meet you with each push and pull of your bodies. He was, hands down, the most attentive lover you had ever experienced, and knowing he may be the most dynamic sexual exchange in your lifetime overloaded your sense of restraint.

"I don't want to share you," you confessed, shutting your eyes closed as you pressed your hands to his knees and leaned backward, changing the undulation of your body.

Hoseok anchored his hands to your lower back to support you. "You won't. I don't want anyone but you."

Your chest tightened as you tried to process how profoundly happy you were to hear his words. Each dive of his shaft into your heat felt like unabashed possession, and you gave yourself over to it with complete elation as you clung to his body, digging your nails into his skin to mark him as your own. Each sting into his flesh persuaded him to grip you tighter, reinforcing your hopes and confirming his cravings were as insatiable as yours.

His breath grew unsteady as he thrust deeper from the adjusted angle. His cock rubbed earnestly against your walls and the more he moved, the more you wanted to experience being used to the fullest, to be completely and utterly his for the taking. The opportunity to pick up where you two had left off in the bathroom weeks ago barreled to the front of your mind, and you could think of little else. You felt like you would suffocate if you didn't divulge what you wanted most at that moment.

"I want you to fuck me. Hard."

"Do you want me—or do you want Master to fuck you?" he asked, slowing his motions.

"Master, please," you decided, hopeful he would accept your choice.

He pulled you off of him and made a low whistle as he examined his pre-soaked dick.

"Hands and knees, at the edge of the bed," he instructed in a low tone.

As you crawled into position, Hoseok tucked his fingers into the red ties again and softened his voice. "Are the ropes still feeling okay?"

Your hands pressed to the mattress beneath you. "They feel fine."

His hand traced up your thigh and rested on your waist, anchoring itself.

"They may sting after this—"

The first thrust of his cock shot through your body like a cannon, knocking the wind from your lungs. Your elbows shook as you braced yourself against the mattress, your core throbbing as it yearned for another hard push.

"Tsk," he began, spreading your cheeks with his hands to make you feel more vulnerable and exposed to his eye. "You feel like you've wanted this for a long time, pet." Pulling hard on the back of the harness, he drew your body close to his own and wrapped his arm around your abdomen. Nuzzling his nose in the nape of your neck, he whispered, "Tell me, how badly do you want to be fucked?"

His dick pumped in and out in a slow cadence as you struggled to formulate an answer. Your mind was far too preoccupied with Hoseok's fingers inching between your legs again.  _Please touch it_ , you hoped, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Badly," you gasped. A release of breath blew past your lungs as the edge of his fingertip found your clit and tapped on it like he was ringing a service bell. He meant to play with his food first, that much was apparent. The fact you were squirming and panting in his arms had no effect on his actions.

He pressed hard against your bundle of nerves. "Do you want to walk out of here?"

Another hard throb knocked between your legs.

"No," you answered.

A cruel smack ricocheted off your ass, causing you to yelp in surprise.

"No, what?" His voice was distant and cold, fully in character.

"No,  _Master_ ," you corrected, feeling the corners of your lips turn upward upon feeling the new sting.

"That's right," he released his hold on you and shoved you back toward the mattress. Your arms outstretched to prevent your face from colliding against the duvet, but it was barely enough time to prepare for Hoseok pulling back his hips and thrusting hard into your walls again. His fingers dug into your flesh and the only preparation you could muster before the next blow was to widen your knees a little more. Determined to withstand every inch of him, you arched your back and pressed into your hands as Hoseok set a brutal pace, battering your folds with unrelenting force.

Tears pricked your eyes as strained cries of praise and pleasure tore from your throat. If someone had told you months ago that a business card from your favorite bakery would lead to the cacophony of lewd smacking sounds filling your bedroom in that moment, you would have laughed in their face. As Hoseok repeatedly filled your core with singed soreness, your ears began to grow fuzzy and hard of hearing. Another orgasm was quickly approaching, and he showed no signs of slowing down.

"Mm—Master," you called, feeling your arms shake from keeping yourself upright for too long.

He grunted from behind you and repositioned his hands to gain a more secure hold. His pace slowed to a rhythmic roll of his hips, and the sensation of feeling his cock hit its mark so expertly after being battered for several minutes made your mouth run dry.

"You feel so good and tight for Master," he murmured under his breath. "So good...fuck...."

Hearing him lose himself gave you a renewed rush of satisfaction. You pushed back on him, meeting him thrust for thrust, as your belly began to tighten in anticipation.

"Will you come inside of me, Master?" you asked, feeling the potency of the question according to how his grip began to tighten on your hips.

"God, yes," he assured, sealing his answer with another hard roll of his pelvis against your flesh. He slipped his fingers underneath the back of your harness and pulled you upright again. "But I want you to come on my cock first," he muttered, skidding his fingertips along your skin until they met the clit once more, rekindling it with tight, eager circles.

Your back arched to ensure he would continue to hit where you wanted most. His length moved through you as his hands carried on their pleasure, and your body ached as it writhed against the ropes, feeling them scratch against your chest with the coming of your next climax.

A final twist of his fingertips against your swollen clit pushed you over the edge and your walls began to clench around him. Your eyes squeezed shut as your throat burned from the moaning that erupted from within you.

“Ah yes,  _yes_ ,  _please_ —f-fuck!”

He felt you clamp like a vice around his dick and he groaned in ecstasy, gripping the ropes tightly to hold you in the best position to chase his high. Your worn-out form, lacquered in sweat, shook like a rag-doll as he controlled your movements with the harness as his reins.

"Take it all, pet," he spat through gritted teeth before granting you the small reprieve of being shoved into the crumpled sheets—face down, ass up. You wailed into the duvet, a trickle of drool dripping onto the fabric to rest like morning dew. All you could do was hang on to the covers as Hoseok clung to your waist to pursue his pleasure by any cadence required. Your folds were screaming from overstimulation, but the smacking noises of his flesh wrecking yours filled your ears like sweet music and brought the warmest glow of fulfillment to your cheeks.

Unable to see anything but the room swirling around you, your imagination drifted off to speculate how his face must have looked as he became consumed with the need to be sated. You suspected his eyebrows were furrowed by the way he was grunting like an animal, bucking into you with the piston-like ferocity of a man who was on the brink of madness. The thought was enough to make you want to come again.

"Ah—___!" Hoseok moaned with enthusiasm, his voice laced with more need than you were expecting. The crescendo of clashing bodies came at last as he coated your walls with warm translucence, spurting recurring bursts with slowing pumps into your heat.

He withdrew with a long exhale like he had eaten a satisfying meal for the first time in a long time, as your thighs continued to tremble. Your waist fell to its side and you closed your eyes, keen to hang on to the feeling, the pounding in your chest and the thrum between your legs. The mattress dipped as Hoseok climbed in bed next to you, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close to his body.

"Tsk, my god," he commented as he slipped two fingers back inside of you. You moaned lowly and involuntarily clenched around his fingers with your hot, soiled core. His breath was warm and titillating in the shell of your ear. "What a beautiful mess you've made, coated with my cum, and you're still squeezing around me."

Your fingernails dug into his veined forearms and scratched as you tried to stabilize your breathing. A dull ache echoed in your walls as you clenched again, astounded your body hadn't given out just yet.

"I bet you can soak this new bedspread," Hoseok continued, teasing your walls with wet fingers. "Tell me—can you take one more?"

"I-I don't know," you panted, unsure whether to throw in the towel or take the risk of another orgasm so soon.

"I think you can," he hinted, plunging his fingers deep and curling them, pressing firmly against your g-spot.

A whine squeezed from your lungs and Hoseok caged your body with his. His bare chest smelled of sandalwood and sweat, igniting your senses and compelling your head to nod, signaling you would try your best to survive him one last time.

Your walls were raw from his earlier treatment, but it didn't prevent you from feeling every modicum of his skill and precision as he began to rapidly twitch his stiff fingers, brushing against the most enticing place. Frantic breaths escaped as you felt yourself unravel too quickly, unable to predict at what moment you would snap.

"Hoseok, I-ah, oh god,  _oh god_!"

"That's right, dirty girl," he urged, jerking his hand over and over as your jaw dropped in a silent scream. Your pelvic floor tingled and your body grew hot. All control became lost as you heard the sound of squelching liquid and Hoseok groaning approvingly from the back of his throat. Your legs felt uncharacteristically warm, except for the chill of your juices splashing back on you with each shove of his hand back into your battered core. It felt both sullying and exhilarating to hear Hoseok celebrate your intimate drops sprinkling over your bodies, but the only action you could manage at that final stage of pleasure was to arch your back and let the last orgasm wash over you, wave after wave.

As his hand stilled, you grew extremely lightheaded and tapped his arm helplessly.

"Hoseok—"

The room faded to black.

* * *

 

You jolted in alarm, your nostrils burning and your eyes wide as saucers.

"___," Hoseok called, reaching to take your face in his nurturing hands. "Are you okay?"

Your eyes fell on the nightstand to see a small white package torn open: smelling salts.

"Oh no, I  _passed out_?!" you gasped, burying your face in your hands.

Hoseok chuckled at your embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I didn't think that would happen or I wouldn't have pushed you. It was hot as hell, though." He tilted his head, motioning toward the sheets which were soaked with your juices, the product of his most recent efforts. "Mmm, look at what you did," he teased with a smirk.

Looking down at the large puddle, you recoiled, your face scorched by the sight. "There's so much of it, oh my god...wait—you had smelling salts in your bag, but not condoms?"

"I always have salts on me in case someone passes out," he laughed. "Dehydration, ___. This is why I stress drinking lots of water. I’m not sure you’ve had enough today."

"Clearly not," you remarked, staring at the ceiling. "I can't believe I did that."

Hoseok patted your damp thigh reassuringly and slipped out of the bed. "I'll go get some water and a towel."

He stepped out of the room and left you to observe the tiny droplets of your last release which were chilling against your bare legs.  _God, it's everywhere_ , you thought, noting a load of laundry and a shower were in your near future.

Hoseok returned with two glasses of water and a towel. "Water first. I like seeing you covered like this," he said with a grin, making your cheeks flare up again. "Here, let me get you out of those." He pointed to your chest at the red ropes still wrapped around your skin.

You turned your back and felt the tugging of him untying the knots. As the cords loosened, you took a sip of water and felt thankful you were returning back to normal. Hoseok traced the pads of his fingers against the etchings left behind, then planted soft presses of his lips against the sorest spots. As he tended to you, you blotted your thighs and belly with the towel, managing to wipe away the most notable pools.

The last time you felt such relaxation was so long ago, you could barely remember it. His hands pressed against your shoulder blades and you took in the warmth of them. They were always soothing and inviting, and you hoped in that moment that it wasn't the last time he would touch you like that. Light kisses pressed along your spine and you felt reassured and secure.

Hoseok took a long drink of water from his glass and climbed back into the bed next to you. He rested his head against your pillows and outstretched his arm, coaxing you to lie down next to him. You tossed the towel at him playfully, pointing toward the droplets on his shoulder that were still present.

"Don't like my badge of honor?" he jested, wiping off his shoulder.

"Do you really like being covered in it?"

"It's sexy," he answered with confidence, tucking the towel behind him.

You scooted close to him and became enveloped in the warmth of his embrace. Hoseok didn't strike you as the sort of man who would escape after sex, and you were thankful for the confirmation of it. You had never felt such intimacy with someone before. He felt close and understood so much about you, and that thought was as frightening as it was comforting. He had confessed to having feelings for you, but now that you had consummated those feelings and sated the urges you had for one another, you weren't sure he still felt the same way.

Your feelings about him had remained unchanged. If anything, acting upon them as you did only fueled the flames of your attachment toward him. The chemistry was as potent as ever in your mind, and you didn't want it to be over. You didn't want him to leave.

He pulled you close until you rested your head on his chest. His heartbeat was as tranquil as his breathing, and you wondered if it would be the last time you would get to hear it. Several moments passed in silence as you listened to the sound of him breathing. You wrapped your arm around him to attach your body to his. He responded by stroking your cheek gently and offering a small kiss on your forehead. The caress of his lips was tender and loving—and it made you question what would become of you both.

"What does all this mean?" you murmured, too nervous to ask at a standard volume. Hoseok's body grew tense, so you continued to explain. "I'm enjoying this with you so much, but I don't want to get confused about what this was—what we are, I mean. Does that make sense? I don't want to open myself up to more hurt without knowing what you want to happen next."

He took your hand and brought it to his lips, giving it a small peck, then released a deep sigh. "I don't know. I thought you giving me the ropes back would be the last time you'd ever want to see me. I figured you'd tell me to go to hell."

A light chuckle echoed in your ear, and he continued. "I really miscalculated this whole thing. I already submitted a termination of my lease two weeks ago. I'm not staying here."

"What do you mean, 'here'?"

"I mean I have to find another place to live," he clarified. "The business has dried up and I can't afford to operate here anymore. That's the risk of having clients get better. Lots of them don't need me anymore, and it's not like the practice I had before in my last city. I used to be booked for months."

The news of his financial struggles sunk into your stomach like a cold, heavy stone. You were another client he lost—or rather, gave up—even when he needed the money most.

"I'm sorry, Hoseok," you said mournfully. "I had no idea."

He shifted slightly and gave your arm a small squeeze. "Don't worry about me. I'll be okay. It's not the first time I've had to start over. Maybe I'll go visit my sister first, clear my head, come up with a new plan. I might go back to traditional counseling."

"But what about shibari? You love it, right? You shouldn't give up something you love."

"Yes, but there isn't a big scene for shibari here. Not like where I used to live."

"Can't you just go back there?" you asked. "Why did you leave in the first place?"

Hoseok squirmed and appeared to be uneasy. You took notice and quickly grew apologetic, burying your face in his chest. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that. It's not my business."

"You're cute," he commented, stroking your hair softly. "But eh, it's not that. That girlfriend I mentioned was my business partner and after she cheated on me, she told my clients I was medically unfit to provide services. I doubt there are any clients to go back to now, and it was several months ago. It's not like I can explain what happened to them. It wouldn't be professional."

You lifted your head from his chest in anger. "She just took all your clients like that?"

"Well, it wasn't like I was going to stick around and fight for them by setting up a competing business across the street," he retorted. "I had invested so much into that relationship and business that I was broke when it ended. When you catch the love of your life fucking someone else, you just have to get out of there."

Hoseok's face was forlorn with regret. It was astounding to you how he had been instrumental in helping you break free from the chains of your former job, yet he had most recently been a victim of mistreatment too. You took his hand and interlaced your fingers in his, squeezing them. He looked into your eyes with his deep, dark pools and it filled you with sadness. It broke your heart, seeing that side of him, and you were determined to help him as he had helped you weeks before.

"I don't think you should let one person ruin your life,” you put bluntly. “If I've learned anything from years of being abused by my career choices, it's that there's always a way out. There's always a way to undo the past and reject being the victim. You're really smart and you have a gift for what you do. I think you can start over wherever you want. Shitty circumstances happening to you doesn't mean it was your fault."

Hoseok smiled warmly, then kissed your forehead again. "I'm proud of you. It sounds cliché to say that, given the circumstances, but you've come a long way since I met you. I don't think you're going to have any issues finding another place to work either."

A jolt resounded in your stomach. "About that...."

"Oh, you've already found something?" he asked with an illuminated expression.

"I have an offer."

"That's good news!"

You flinched and tilted your head. "I haven't accepted it yet. I'm still debating."

"Is there something wrong with the offer?" Hoseok inquired.

"It's in another city. I've never even visited this place, so I don't know much about it. I've never had to pick up and move to a new area before."

He considered your words and remarked, "Starting over can be really refreshing though."

"I'm nervous about it still. I have a few more days. Here," you said, reaching for your phone to show Hoseok the offer letter. "It's the same type of job I had before. It looks like my old boss didn't completely throw me under the bus."

Hoseok's eyes read over the offer, line by line, then his lips began to curl and he started laughing.

Raising an eyebrow, you looked confused. "What's so funny?"

"Wow," he began, handing the phone back. "The irony. This job's in my last city."

"Seriously?" you exclaimed, amused by the odds. "Well, am I going to get mugged if I move there?"

"Doubt it," he said. "I loved it there. It was pretty safe, had a lot of great places to live and eat at. There was always lots to do. You should go, ___."

The offer sat in your hand and never looked more attractive to you. There were no prevailing ties keeping you where you were, and the prospect of a fresh start was appealing. But the man in front of you, holding your naked body securely to his, had given you the confidence to move forward—and that wasn't something you wanted to give up.

"Why don't you come with me?"

It was a simple solution in your mind. You would feel better knowing a friendly face in the new city, and it would allow the opportunity to pursue something more with him, if that's what he wanted. Hoseok turned over your proposal in his mind for several moments, rubbing his thumb distractedly over your abdomen.

"What are you asking exactly?" he began. "Are you wanting to pursue a relationship?"

You traced your fingertips along his chest. "This feels too natural to me to let go. If you came with me, we could see where it leads."

"I think if we did this, we should live separately. I don't want to distract you as you're transitioning to a new job," he explained. "Plus, chemistry doesn't mean we'll get along day-to-day. I'd rather take things slowly so we're sure about us first."

"Of course," you agreed. "I don't think rushing into something permanent is a good idea either. I want to get to know you more. It just sounds like the timing is right, you know? It's odd that I would have an offer in a place you know well, at a time when you and I could both leave and start over."

He nodded. "The timing seems fated, I'll admit. It would be a hard transition, though. I have a lot of painful memories there."

"We can make new ones," you encouraged. "Surely you still have some friends there."

His eyes lit up and he looked hopeful. "I do have a good friend who's still working in that area. I can look them up and ask for work. Maybe they'll have a lead."

"I think this is a good idea," you said with a pleasant expression. "I have a good feeling about it."

"Is it because you'll have help moving furniture now?" he joked, poking your side.

You smacked his arm. "Hey, you'll benefit too! We can share a truck."

Hoseok laughed heartily, "Well, I guess beggars can't be choosers."

Giggling next to him, you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him with your whole body. The room grew quiet and he returned the snug hold around your bare form.

"I'm glad I don't have to let you go," you confessed, your breath wafting against his bare chest.

"Me too," he agreed. "I'm happy we get to pursue this."

Lifting your head, you pecked his cheek and nuzzled against his nose. "Care to pursue a shower together?"

"Mm," he hummed, his eyes alight with interest as he returned a suggestive kiss to your soft petals. "Lead the way."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months have passed since you and Hoseok moved away and a lot has happened.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _The darkness never felt more liberating than in suspension. Your body was hanging, bound in jute rope, and you felt yourself slowly turning in the air like a puppet on display. The stretching sound of the ropes didn't frighten you. The black silk covering your eyes gave no cause for alarm. Lacking the ability to move and see what was going on around you meant you were no longer in control of those things. You weren't responsible for them. You could just surrender and let be, allowing the sensation of true freedom to wash over your consciousness as you drifted closer to subspace._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Hoseok x Reader
> 
> Genre: Light smut, fluff
> 
> Warning: Shibari!Hoseok, sexual themes, shibari, edgeplay, profanity.

_Six months later._

The darkness never felt more liberating than in suspension. Your body was hanging, bound in jute rope, and you felt yourself slowly turning in the air like a puppet on display. The stretching sound of the ropes didn't frighten you. The black silk covering your eyes gave no cause for alarm. Lacking the ability to move and see what was going on around you meant you were no longer in control of those things. You weren't responsible for them. You could just surrender and let be, allowing the sensation of true freedom to wash over your consciousness as you drifted closer to subspace.

The feeling of flight made your ears tickle, but you suspected it was because your hair was dangling loosely. You preferred your hair to be free in moments like these, your scalp at rest so it could experience and embrace the haziness you knew would soon arrive. The warmth was your constant companion, as the bliss of being tied up and hung from a large steel bondage rig kept your blood flowing excitedly through your veins. You wished you could stay suspended in that moment forever.

Heated fingertips brushed against your naked shoulders with the lightest touch. The senses you could still control were heightened, all pointing towards the familiar hand tenderly grazing your neck. Affection bloomed in your belly as you reacted to the physical contact with relaxed exhalation.

"Hoseok." Your voice was barely audible.

His hand moved to stroke your head gently. "Hey, beautiful. How are we doing?"

You loved hearing the care in his low tone almost as much as you loved feeling him touch you whenever he checked in. "I feel great," you answered, managing a small smile.

"Do you feel any tingles I should know about?" he inquired further.

"No," you replied. "I'm just really warm. You can take questions tonight if you'd like. I feel fine."

"Okay, sweetheart." His lips pressed softly against yours and you felt reassured. "Enjoy yourself."

The thuds of his boots moved away from you and you picked up the sound of him clearing his throat.

"When you check in with your partner, you want to check for physical safety first. It should be predictable if you tied correctly and left enough room between the skin and the ropes, but a suspension tie is more dangerous. A tie that starts well may end poorly due to shifting around, so you want to be sure. You should never keep your partner suspended to the point of injury.

"So, you all saw how I adjusted my communication. When I checked in with her, I lowered the sound of my voice so you couldn't hear me. I wanted to have a private moment with her to keep her at ease. I used comforting language and words she likes, and her breathing remained steady and relaxed, which is what I'm looking for. I asked how she was doing while checking to see if circulation had been lost. You want to be sure you do the check-ins regularly to monitor mental state as well. It's just as important. You can tie a rope bunny perfectly, but the state of being tied up might become psychologically damaging over time. Are there any questions so far?"

The crowd of spectators stirred in their seats and a few of them began murmuring among themselves.

"How long should they be suspended for?" a man asked.

Hoseok walked further away from you, approaching the sound of the man's voice. "That's a good question. It depends on a lot of factors and really comes down to what your partner can endure safely. Mine has practiced regularly for months. She stays hydrated and trusts me completely. She's comfortable right now, but with this tie, I wouldn't keep her here for longer than fifteen or twenty minutes. I would have more flexibility with the time if she were upright, but as her head's hanging this way, I have to account for the additional risks. I also don't want to give her a headache."

"Is the time dependent on the type of rope you use?" another audience member asked.

"Eh, not the material, unless your partner is sensitive to certain types," he answered. "You want to be picky about the rope's diameter though, for safety reasons. You shouldn't use five or six-millimeter rope on vertical lines because you can drop someone. You should stick to eight millimeters if you're using a natural fiber type to reduce the risk of breakage. Assuming your rope thickness is correct, then the time becomes dependent on the angle of the suspension, the type of tie you use, and how seasoned your partner is."

The audience buzzed lowly for a few moments, then a woman put forth a question. "Can you flog your partner while they're suspended?"

The crowd chuckled and you could hear Hoseok's amusement as he laughed along with them. "Oh sure, I could easily flog her legs and feet from this angle if I wanted to. As long as you're checking in regularly with your partner, you can have your fun too. The senses can be heightened during something like this, especially if they're blindfolded."

Hoseok's voice began to fade as your consciousness hovered above you, drifting through your memories of the last several months....

The move back to Hoseok's city had been far less stressful than you anticipated it to be, thanks to his knowledge of the area and his willingness to assist in helping you settle into a new place. It was nice to have someone there for emotional support, especially when you were nervous about picking the right apartment. Hoseok suggested searching on the north side of the city. There, you settled in a nice one-bedroom apartment with a spacious closet and bathroom—the two things you were unwilling to compromise.

Hoseok stayed with his sister for the first month, helping her out until he found a job and moved into a small apartment near her neighborhood. You admired how devoted he was to his family. After being away from them for so long, he was always willing to lend a helping hand whenever they needed it. It was a prevailing attribute you appreciated, and you concluded that his strong caretaker traits had been first cultivated at home, caring for those closest to him.

He decided to return to traditional counseling, but turned his attention to addressing the mental health needs of children and teens, as opposed to adults as he had previously. It was more fulfilling to him, although living close to his sister required him to supplement his income by finding a second job. The prospect of working in that area again made him nervous, but you always agreed to meet up with him and ride around the city, helping him scout for “help wanted” signs from businesses he used to affiliate with.

Your memories drifted further, recalling Hoseok making an odd sound on a particular night of job-hunting—an uncharacteristic clearing of his throat. Turning your head to see what he was looking at, you saw a small building that was not only closed, but boarded up. The sign in the street in front of it read, "Bowman Realty Management."

"This used to be our business," he commented, pressing his tongue against his cheek. "Well,  _her_  business."

"Oh," you uttered, unsure how to respond to the topic of his ex and former business partner. "Do you think she moved it?"

"Probably not, she really liked the building and we got a good deal on it."

You touched his hand. "You should ask around with a few of your friends. Maybe you can get some of your old clients back."

He pressed his lips together. "Maybe. I'll ask around."

After that night, you didn't hear from him for a few days. When he showed up at your door later that weekend, his eyes were wild with hope and it was startling to behold. He explained that he had reached out to old friends from his time doing scenes and shibari expeditions, and they told him that the business he had with his ex had quickly folded after he left. It appeared, at least to the old friends, that the business wasn't able to survive without him there.

The next few weeks had been filled with Hoseok wanting to drive around to restaurants to leave business cards as he had before. He was on the phone a lot, talking strategy with friends and former affiliates. Slowly, some of his old clients returned, seeking the traditional therapy he had offered in the past.

His networking with people from the past paid off in other ways; he was able to return to the BDSM scene he had previously loved and left behind. After a few weeks attending events as a participant, he was asked to facilitate scenes and teach classes. You had never seen him so happy and fulfilled. He took on the responsibility of the task and expanded the community seminars to offer specialized instruction on a variety of topics. The entrance fees to those events were always modest, and his classes became increasingly popular as word got around about his skill with rope and presentation. Before long, he was able to supplement his daytime income doing what he truly loved: teaching shibari.

His favorite classes to offer were bondage and shibari workshops for couples—like the one you were currently participating in as his rope bunny. Every other week, you agreed to attend with him and help him with demonstrations. It brought you closer and quickly became your favorite activity to go out and do together.

Your relationship with Hoseok had grown into a well-tended mutual affection and respect for each other's needs and wants. After moving, you agreed to take things slowly, to go on dates and relearn each other without the backdrop of your previous relationship clouding the outcome. It was imperative to you that Hoseok had taken the time to reflect, to find the means to stabilize his living situation on his own. It was also important that he reconcile any old feelings that may have resurfaced from returning to his old stomping ground. That early space you gave yourselves allowed him to grow into a self-assured person and he carried himself with a reserved dignity these days.

As you hung from the rig, blindfolded and on display in front of new friends and strangers, you ruminated on how quickly and significantly your life had changed, thanks to one little business card. You had no regrets, no desire to go back and redo anything that had happened since you met Hoseok. After an emotional ordeal where your shortcomings had been presented before you, it was easier now to recognize your needs. The new job was engaging, yet flexible, and it allowed you the chance to take time to care for yourself—something which you recognized you had failed to do properly before.

Hoseok was helpful in establishing new, healthier routines for self-management. You took walks together after dates and talked about your workdays. He showed you places he used to love and they would become new memories to share. Every weekend was a chance to venture someplace new and grow together.

The brush of his hand snapped you back to the present, and you felt an ache between your legs. You knew how the end of the presentation would go. It was coming very soon, and you couldn't be more excited for it.

"When engaging in wax play, it's important to pay attention to the type of candle you use. You should use tapers if you're going to include them in your shibari practice, but the shape isn't the only thing you should be taking into account. The ingredients and burning temperature of the candle are as important. The intent is to create hot wax for your partner to enjoy; you don't want to cause damage or irritation to their skin."

You felt a tug on the ropes which had been keeping you suspended. Hoseok was tying a candle to the cords, anchoring the wax taper into its pre-destined place. A smile spread across your features.

"Yeah, you know what's coming, don't you," he chuckled.

"Mhm," you hummed cheerfully, hearing the strike of a match in your ears.

"You're glowing," he said. "Did you go into subspace?"

You nodded, whispering, "I was thinking about us."

His hands traced over your shoulders again and rubbed your hair gently against your head. He bent down to plant a small kiss on your forehead, communicating he was thinking of you too. Turning away from you, he resumed addressing the audience.

"Now the candle is lit, so we have a couple more minutes left. Notice that I've angled the candle away from the rope and toward her feet. This will allow the wax to fall where I want it to fall, which will be around the hips and thighs."

"What kind of candle did you use?" an audience member asked.

"This is a soy candle. It has a medium burning temperature and cools quickly on the skin once it makes contact. It's generally less irritating to the skin."

Another person presented a follow-up inquiry. "What if the partner is allergic to soy?"

"That's a good question," Hoseok replied. "You could use beeswax as an alternative if you're wanting to stick to natural products. They'll burn at a higher temperature, but they are long-lasting. If the duration doesn't matter that much to you, there are some vegan options out now which will melt into an edible massage oil. That could be a lot of fun."

The crowd laughed and you smiled, though you knew he couldn't see it. You enjoyed hearing him perform in his element, engaging the workshop attendees week after week. You were proud of him and all he had been able to achieve. But above all the sentiments you felt while bound in the ropes, you were most content to be his.

* * *

 

**[Hoseok’s POV]**

Hoseok could tell the wax had begun to fall on ___'s bare flesh by the way her breathing abruptly shifted to short, swift bursts of air. He grinned knowingly and placed his finger over his lips to hush the crowd to silence.

The lighting was perfect, cast on her body which began to tremble under the drippings of hot wax. He had anticipated it would hit her thighs first, but her abdomen had become the first target. As the drippings began to pool, she relaxed her body, surrendering to the ecstasy the heat was giving her. The hot drops began to trail down her hip, sticking to the black panties she had selected for this intimate gathering of spectators. It continued to fall down her naked thighs before the substance cooled enough to dry, leaving white evidence of the wax behind to play on the audience's imagination.

The small whine from her parted lips let the crowd know her skin was stinging, but she was enjoying it. Hoseok's pride swelled as he took in the sound. He knew she was holding back, not wanting to make the display too explicit for any attendees who may have been nervous at witnessing her at play.

The room was silent as the onlookers continued to watch the wax melt on the woman Hoseok had been attending to for the previous hour. Some of the couples began to look at each other with knowing smiles, silently sharing they would be pursuing bondage and wax play at home. Seeing that quiet exchange made him happy, as it was confirmation he had reached his audience effectively. He had taken a subject that may have been taboo or scary and made it approachable and interesting.

The wick of the candle continued to burn, but Hoseok knew his partner's time in the ropes was drawing to a close. He approached her hanging body and blew out the candle, then pulled it from its bonds. A curtain closed at the front of the stage, signaling the crowd to a small round of applause. It was customary for exhibitions to end privately, to give the partners time to close the interaction in an intimate way, without an audience.

His hand touched her face to indicate his return, then he wrapped his arm around her to steady her body as he took off her blindfold and untied her as quickly as his fingers would allow.

"Hoseok," she murmured, her voice weakened by the experience.

"I'm here, sweetheart." Hoseok's voice was tender and careful. "I'm almost done."

As the last of the ropes were freed, ___ opened her eyes slowly, moving back toward the present. The calm expression made Hoseok feel proud of himself; he had given her a chance to travel to another plane, and she returned more relaxed than ever.

He tucked his right hand beneath her legs and wrapped his left arm around her back, lifting her from the ground and carrying her behind the stage to the small dressing room used to recoup between exhibitions. He placed her body delicately on a small sofa, then offered her a silk robe to cover herself, as well as a glass of water.

She took the first sip slowly, letting the cool water replenish her organs, then raised an eyebrow.

"Did someone ask about flogging?"

He laughed, crossing his arms. "Yep, you must have riled up their imaginations."

She flashed a pouty face at the teasing, then took a longer drink from her cup.

"You did a good job tonight," she concluded, reaching for his hand to hold. "You were really in your element."

He offered her an affectionate squeeze from his long fingers and took a seat next to her. "I had a gifted partner."

She smiled and leaned towards him, seeking a deeper connection. As their lips touched in a sweet kiss, Hoseok reminded himself how thankful he was to have her. Her soft petals brushed against the seal of his mouth and he slipped his hands behind her lower back, pulling her body closer to his. The impassioned interaction continued for several moments and Hoseok felt as though he could melt in her taste forever.

When her arms wrapped around his neck, he pulled away from her kiss and nudged his nose against hers.

"I love you."

She clung to him and whispered back, "I love you too, Hoseok."

As the two of them remained tightly wrapped in each other, Hoseok knew, despite everything, he was the luckiest man in the universe.

A small grumble sounded from ___'s belly and broke the silence between them.

"Are you hungry?" he inquired with a chuckle, loosening his hold.

"Mhm," she responded lowly. "Can we get Chinese after this?"

"Sure, we can get whatever you want."

Her fingers lifted to wipe her eye, and Hoseok anticipated that she would be out like a light after she ate. "I want lo mein from that one place you like," she requested.

The corners of his lips perked up at the suggestion of his favorite restaurant. "We can go there, get some takeout. Do you want me to take you home?"

She shook her head. "Can you take me to  _your_  home instead?"

Hoseok's heart felt a surge of warmth as her weakened state persuaded her to choose his apartment over hers. She lived in the nicer area, and yet she would often ask to stay with him. Knowing she would be asleep in his arms later that night made him feel like he was doing something right. He was taking care of her as she deserved, in his mind.

"We can go to my place," he accepted, brushing her cheek with his thumb. "Do you need help getting dressed? I can stay if you need me."

"No, no," she gently refused. "You should go out and talk to them, give out more cards. I can dress myself tonight."

"Are you sure?"

She giggled, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder. "Yes, I'll be fine. I'll meet you out front, okay?"

"Alright," he conceded, standing from the sofa to approach the door. "I'm locking the door behind me."

"Thank you," she said with a soft nod of her head.

Hoseok twisted the small latch in the doorknob and closed the door, securing her in the room. Turning on his heel, he took a deep breath and prepared to return back to the workshop's main area, where he knew he would be approached to answer this question or that. He imagined after that particular exhibition, there would be quite a few.

The sense of being useful was one of the most rewarding feelings he felt these days. And in many ways, he owed it all to her, the woman who took a chance on him by taking his business card at one of the lowest points of his life. By alleviating her burdens and addressing her needs, he found a way to heal and find purpose again, to reclaim himself at last. And although the circumstances of their meeting had been less than ideal, he didn't regret it—not when he was on the cusp of having everything he had ever wanted. He had a renewed sense of self-worth and a planned direction to head toward, and he wanted her to continue to be a part of it. Grateful for that last push, for ___’s stubbornness and unwillingness to let go of what she wanted, Hoseok allowed himself to feel happiness. She loved him, and it was her unwavering support that gave him the strength to endure taking new chances, including loving her in return.


End file.
